


When Fire and Ice Collide

by Wildfire1980



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Blowjobs, Cunnilingus, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mind Games, Multiple Orgasms, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Older Man/Younger Woman, Past Relationship(s), Porn With Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, S8 Sucks so I'm fixing it, Sexual Tension, Slow burn so stay with me, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Fingering, jorleesi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 49,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildfire1980/pseuds/Wildfire1980
Summary: It was unintended – the collision of fire and ice, a natural accident. He was a northern bear and she a southern dragon. Ice ran through his veins and fire through hers. And yet, she was as cold as winter to his merits, and he, as constant as any flame to melt the frozen walls around her guarded heart.





	1. The Line in The Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Author Notes: 
> 
> Just so you guys know, this is my first GoT fic…but not my first fic altogether. Some of you might recognize me from the Star Trek: TNG world, then again, you may not. Also, I have read the books, but I prefer the characters of the series, only because Iain Glen has ruined Jorah for me (in a good way). 
> 
> This story is canon up until S6. After that, well, my story telling takes place and I begin manipulating and remolding the whole storyline between Daenerys/Jorah. There will be a sequel to this story later on. In fact, if this story keeps evolving in my head like it is, it may well become a series. With that said, I hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to GoT. If I did, Jorah and Dany would have slept together that night in Qarth, after he melted Dany’s panties off with that, ‘I still can’t believe you’re real,’ speech …So there!

**Somewhere in the Sea of the Grasslands**

The moon was high in the sky, as the stars lit the black backdrop of the skies above, creating an infinite show of power by the gods. But Jorah’s eyes were fixed to the flames dancing about before him, mesmerized by the sparkling embers being carried skywards by a light breeze. The wind lightly rustling through his hair, as the fire warmed his skin. It was an intoxicating façade of complacency, to know that you could be cooled by one and burned by the other. 

He wanted to laugh, ironically knowing that the description was a befitting characterization of the Targaryen Queen they were now seeking...or at least in his case it was, maybe not so much for the sellsword who was sitting opposite of him, still spouting off about his glory days as a gladiator. 

The Knight successfully refrained from rolling his eyes as he let out an exasperated sigh, burying his face into the palm of his hands. 

“You haven’t heard a word that I’ve said, have you?” Daario asked.

Jorah wearily peered up at him, “No.” 

The Tyroshi pointed an accusing finger in his direction. “You know, most men would take your lack of interest as an insult…but I know you far better, Jorah the Andal.”

He arched a suspicious brow, and then sighed as he turned his eyes back to the fire. “You know nothing about me.”

Daario tilted his head, studying the older man before him. “Tell me, do all bears fret so much over their cubs?”

Jorah ignored him, refusing to be bated.

The Tyroshi shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps you’re right…I only know what the dragon whispers when she sleeps.”

Jorah’s eyes cut to his, causing the sellsword to smirk in satisfaction. But still, he remained silent, hoping the Queen’s lover would choose to drop the subject altogether. 

“You’ve honestly never wondered what she’s like in bed?” 

_‘For the love of gods, would he just shut up,'_ Jorah thought. 

“Whom?” 

Daario’s smile widened at the Knight feigning ignorance. 

“You know exactly who I speak of?” The sellsword picked up a small log and threw it onto the fire, ignoring Jorah’s hard glare. “I could enlighten you on the matter, if you so desired?” Naharis ventured a look in the Westerosi’s direction, noting how the muscle in his jaw began to tick. “I could tell you many secrets about our Queen – Does she prefer to fuck or make love? Does she like to be in control or submissive? Does she scream like some theatrical whore in a brothel, earning every bit of her coin, or does she remain silent like some dull, broken chambermaid?” 

Instantly, Jorah was to his feet, his hand swiftly landing on the hilt of his sword as a warning.

“We need each other right now.” He gritted out. “After we’re done needing each other, then you can take this as far as you like. But for now, you will be mindful of how you speak of our Queen.” 

Daario held his hands up in surrender, an undeclared apology. 

“I don’t want to fight you Jorah the Andal. I’m merely letting you know –”

“…Who she belongs too.” Jorah finished for him, slowly taking his hand off the sword and sitting back down. “Believe me, I know all too well what kind of man she has chosen.”

Daario’s eyes turned a little darker from the insult.

“I see,” A wry smile began to form on his lips. “You don’t approve of me?”

“I don’t.” 

“And you fancy yourself a better match?” 

“No,” He answered honestly. “I’m just as unworthy as you are.” 

“And yet we both love her.” Daario added, then shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not so sure you two would make an ideal match to begin with. She talks incessantly after sex. I mean, nonstop. Enough to drive any man from her bed.” He paused, his eyes distant as if recollecting a memory. “It can be quite…irritating. And no offense, Jorah the Andal, but you are a man of few words, not very much of a conversationalist and our Queen is very… _vocal_.” 

“Do you just speak, so you can hear yourself talk?” Jorah asked a bit peeved. 

“Yes!” Daario jested honestly. “What can I say, I’m a vain man.”

Jorah stared blankly at him, as if baffled that the Queen could possibly choose a man so self-absorbed.

“Ah, I see that criticizing look… come on, out with it?” 

“Have you always been this in love with yourself?”

The sellsword laughed. “It’s called confidence,” then leaned a little closer to the fire, whispering. “And it’s what got the Queen’s attention in the first place." Jorah was desperately suppressing his desire to roll his eyes, as Daario continued. “Perhaps instead of criticizing, you should be taking notes. Besides, I always thought you never really tried hard enough for our Queen. No wonder she overlooks you.”

Mormont gave into the urge this time and clearly rolled his eyes, sighing up to the heavens. 

“I assure you that I need no advice on the matter from you. Daenerys has a heart of her own and is more than capable of deciding whom she wishes to love and whom she does not.” 

Daario looked at him blank faced. “But some women need a little convincing.” 

Jorah’s eyes shot to his, his face unreadable. “Such as swimming a mile offshore for a handful of flowers that will be dead by the time you return to the Queen?" 

The Tyroshi’s eyes widened, shocked that the Queen had revealed that incident to her advisor. Then again, she told Jorah everything, or at least she used too. 

“Well, clearly your romantic side needs a little work…and the flowers survived the swim back, mind you.”

“Aye, you truly are a hero.”

“I’m not a hero. I’m spontaneous. I let my impulses lead me and I’m quite certain that one day, it will get me killed.” Daario reached for a piece of wood, withdrew his dagger and began whittling away. “Now you, well, you’re the hero type. It’s why you’ve always come back to her. You want to be more than her hero.” 

“I’ve sworn an oath and I only wish to uphold it.”

The sellsword laughed. “Your honor is admirable, Jorah the Andal. But you and I both know why you really came back.” Jorah’s gaze hardened, a blatant warning for the Queen’s lover to tread carefully. “You want something she will never give you – her heart.”

Mormont sat up a little straighter, his eyes narrowing from the slight. “I suppose that is the one thing we have in common then.” 

Daario glared at the Knight, taking in the rebuttal and then solemnly acquiescing to its truth, returning his attention back to his whittling. 

“At least I’ve had the best part of her.” 

“Aye, I’m sure the Queen would be quite pleased with a man that lays with her one night and crawls into the bed of a whore the next.” Daario’s eyes shot to his immediately, clearly taken back by the revelation. “You would be amazed at how freely the slavers speak in front of their property. Apparently, secrets do not exist in the fighting pits, when death is merely one swing of a blade away.”

Jorah held the sellsword’s eyes, daring him to deny the claim. 

“Forever the faithful Knight, I see.” 

“And you are just like all the other men that have underestimated the woman she is because they were too focused on the Queen she has become. The woman is far more intriguing.” 

“Said like a true romantic. Tell me, Jorah the Andal, do you intend to take this information to the Queen?”

The Knight exhaled deeply, his eyes returning to the fire as he roughly rubbed the side of his face, carefully contemplating his answer. 

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. 

“Well, if I was you, I would.” 

“But you are not me.” Jorah curtly reminded.

“And thank the gods for it too.” 

Mormont ignored the comment, as he pulled the pearl ring from the hem of his kilt. 

“It’s late and we have a long journey to Vaes Dothrak tomorrow."

Daario looked up, noting the Queen’s ring in his hand. “Are you certain that’s where they even took her? For all we know, they could be anywhere by now.” 

Jorah securely placed the ring back and laid down upon his mat, leaving the sellsword to wonder if he even heard the inquiry at all. 

“I’m certain.” He finally answered. 

 


	2. Taking Notes

**_On the Outskirts of Vaes Dothrak_**

 

Daario couldn’t help but notice how Jorah began to trail further and further behind. So much so, that he was beginning to wonder if it would have been wiser to bring the dwarf instead. His breathing was becoming more labored and his body weaker, forcing the knight to make more frequent stops to rest than was required.

He turned to find the older man sweating profusely, resting against a large boulder, trying desperately to catch his breath.

 _“Again?”_ Daario pointed out, annoyed. “Perhaps you should just keep guard over the horses while I go and rescue our Queen.”

“Without me,” Jorah gasped. “…you will be dead before you even enter the city.” 

“No matter…if you move any slower, we’ll both die of old age.” 

Jorah shot him an irritated look but lacked the fortitude to make it a believable threat. 

He watched as Naharis squinted up at the sun setting low in the sky. It would be dark soon, they needed to pick up their pace if they planned to stake out the city before nightfall. 

“Let me go on ahead,” Daario offered. “That will give you a chance to rest.” 

Another deep breath, “No.” Jorah rose to his feet once again, forcing himself to take one step after another. “I’m fine.” He assured him. 

The sellsword let out a derisive laugh. “Look at you…barely able to venture up a hill without overworking yourself.” Daario pointed a cautionary finger at the Knight. “If you keep pushing yourself like this, I’m certain you’ll keel over. And then what will become of me, I’ll no longer be known as the man who fucked the Queen, but the man who walked her poor, old advisor to death.” 

Jorah regarded him in disbelief, his jaw set tight.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now? Your reputation?” 

“Of course.” The sellsword nonchalantly responded, as if the revelation should already be common knowledge. 

“That’s why you don’t deserve her.” 

“Ah, you think me too self-serving to care about our Queen.” 

“I’m not quite convinced that you are even capable of caring about anything, other than yourself.” 

Daario walked toward Jorah and paused, the two men eyeing each other, like two animals staking claim on their territory, sizing the other up. 

“I suppose it’s a good thing it was the Queen I had to convince and not you.”

Jorah turned to walk off, trying desperately to hold his anger in check. 

“Besides, the Queen rather enjoys the process of being persuaded.” The sellsword added. “Perhaps you should try it sometime…if you’re heart doesn’t give out first.” 

But the Knight ignored the derisive insults, putting the adrenaline he felt surging through his veins toward his newly quickened steps. 

“Do you not ever just shut up? You’re almost as bad as Tyrion Lannister.” 

But the Tyroshi continued provoking him.

“Tell me, Jorah the Andal, do you not think yourself too old for our Queen? I mean, compared to her, I imagine you’re as ancient as some of the houses in Westeros.” 

The steep cliff they had been traversing through the mother of mountains began to give way to a tableland, the new advantage point allowing them the perfect view of their surroundings. 

“If two people truly love one another, then love should not be measured by age.” Jorah answered.

“Just the kind of answer a romantic would give. There is only one problem with your philosophy, our Queen does not love you.”

“As you keep reminding me.” Jorah responded. “I’ve been by her side longer than most. I know her better than anyone. You are there to fulfill one need and one need alone. Brag if you must, but men like you are replaceable and when she tires of you, she’ll move on.” 

Daario only hummed his affirmation. “So, that was a yes? You do think you’re too old for her?” 

Jorah growled and stormed off toward the ledge, immediately spotting Vaes Dothrak. 

“That has to be it.” Naharis ascertained.

“Must be what?” 

“The reason you’ve never tried for her?” 

Mormont kept his eyes trained on the city of widows, thinking only of Daenerys, finding himself wishing for the hundredth time that things could be different between them. Much simpler somehow. 

“I only want _her_ happy.” His voice sounded distant, like a man resigned to his fate. “That’s why I’ve never pursued her.” 

“And you don’t believe that you could make her happy?” 

Jorah answered without any hesitation. “I know I could. But that’s not the question that needs to be asked.”

Daario waited for him to elaborate, but the Knight only continued staring off into the distance. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. What is the question that needs to be asked?” 

“Does _she_ think that I could make her happy.” 

The Knight finally turns to face him, eyes squinting from the rays of the sun. 

The Tyroshi stared at him in disbelief. 

“Well hell, I take it all back. Maybe I should be taking notes from you instead, Jorah the Andal.”

A rare smirk forms on Jorah’s lips as he begins unfastening his sword from around his waist, tossing it into a nearby bush, then walks toward the sellsword, holding out his hand, beckoning for his weapons. 

Daario just gives him a dubious expression, refusing to hand over his dagger and arakh. 

“You have to leave them behind, weapons are forbidden in the sacred city.”

“And when they try to kill us for entering their sacred city, you’ll thank me all the more for not handing them over.”

“There is over a hundred thousand Dothraki warriors behind those walls.” Jorah reasoned. “We will never fight our way out, no matter how many weapons we have.” 

Daario sighed reluctantly. “Then what do you suggest?”

“We’ll say we’re wine merchants heading for the Easter market.” 

“Yes, but we have no wine.” 

“They don’t know that. They will only know what we tell them, but if they see those weapons, we’ll never get the chance.” 

“Fine.” Daario acquiesced, removing his arahk from his waist and throwing it aside. But his dagger, he was more cautious with, lovingly stroking it, like a man saying goodbye to a lover on the eve of battle. 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

It had been dark for quite some time now, but they still watched from a distance, hidden safely behind some large boulders. They could hear the city beginning to come to life with laughter and drums beating in the distance. 

Jorah knew now was the time. “Come on.” 

Daario did a double take as the Knight began walking toward the city. 

“What? Now?” 

“Yes, _now_.” Jorah gritted out. 

As they entered the city, they stayed in the shadows, running down paths that seem to have less Dothraki traffic. They pause beside one hut, as they hear two men conversing, coming in their direction. Jorah looks behind them and sees the flap to the hut slightly parted and pushes Daario inside, silently telling him to hush before he can even utter a protest. 

They carefully peer outside the flap, as the two Dothraki bloodriders pass by. 

“Jorah the Andal.” A feminine voice says in the common tongue. “Is that you?” 

Both Daario and Jorah freeze, exchange cautious looks, then turn around to face the woman in question. 

She smiles broadly. “It is you.” 

But it was Daario whom returned her smile. 

The girl was young, but not as young as their Queen. She had long black hair, bronze skin and eyes as blue as the Narrow Sea. The Tyroshi had no clue that Dothraki women could be so beautiful. 

Jorah’s face softened, instantly recognizing the girl. “Jeshi?” 

She nodded, her eyes and smile fixed on the Westerosi Knight. 

“And who is this?” Naharis inquired. 

“This is Jeshi. She once belonged to the Khalasar of Khal Drogo.” 

“And to you.” She added. 

Daario’s mouth dropped. “You were lovers?” His voice laced with bewilderment, as he incredulously gestured toward Jorah. “With him?”

Jeshi shook her head proudly. 

“I’m not dead, you know.” Mormont defended.

“It was long time ago. Before Khaleesi come… is that why you here, Jorah the Andal? For Khaleesi?”

“Aye. Do you know where they’ve taken her?”

“The Khals meet tonight for Khalar Vezhzen. I take her there soon.” With a sway of her hips, she suggestively closed the distance between them. “For small price, I could bring Khaleesi here first.” 

She watched as the Knight ruefully dipped his head and took a small step backwards. 

He had two good reasons to decline – Daenerys and Greyscale. Both were valid reasons, but Daenerys was the most prominent one on his mind. Then again, she always would be.

“Forgive me, Jeshi, I cannot.” 

“I can.” Daario interjects bluntly, as Jorah buries his face in his hand. “I mean, if he’s not willing too, then I can pay.” 

The Dothraki handmaid gave a detailed perusal of the Tyroshi, then smirked approvingly.

“Stay here. I go get Khaleesi now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to thank all of the readers for their amazing reviews and kudos left on the story. It's only been four days since the story was posting, but it's because of the response to the story that I'm updating so soon. So, here's another chapter.
> 
> Originally, chapter two and three were together, but the chapter was just entirely too long (I think eleven pages). So, I divided them into two chapters, which seems to work better. In the next chapter, Dany and Jorah do finally see each other and if the response to the second chapter is as good as the first, then I'll upload chapter three this coming weekend. I hope you guys enjoy!


	3. The Fate of Khals

Some time had passed since Jeshi had left to go retrieve Daenerys, so much so that Jorah was beginning to worry that she had betrayed them after all. And from the studious pacing coming from Daario, apparently, he shared the same concern. 

“I don’t think she’s coming back” Naharis says. “Perhaps we should go in search for her ourselves.” 

“No. We stay here.” 

“What if we stay here and she brings back a hundred bloodriders with her…what then?” 

“She won’t.” Jorah tried to reassure, even though he wasn’t completely certain himself. “Trust me.”

The doubt must have been etched into his features, especially since Daario called him out on it. 

“Come now, Jorah the Andal, even you don’t believe that yourself. As suspicious of a mind as you ha –”

“I make sure no one follow.” Jeshi interrupted, as she entered the hut with their Khaleesi, wearing what appeared to be Dothraki rags and yet, still remaining beautiful, Jorah noted.

She expected both men to come running up to her, happy to of finally found her. But the only man that came to her side was Daario, as Jorah remained a good distance away. 

Daenerys’ eyes instantly go to him and suddenly, the air in the room is thick.

She watches her former Queensguard swallow, watches him prevaricate and look down at his feet before he finally meets her eyes again. And he can see it, the conflicting feelings playing over her face. His fate with her still undecided.

But she knew he would come for her, no matter what. That he would survive the Harpy’s assault just so he could. 

It was in that moment, that she was beginning to realize that she could banish him a thousand times, and a thousand times he would return to her. 

She would also be lying if the thought didn’t unnerve her a bit. For a man to be that devoted to a woman who was unable to return the sentiment. 

And then there was Daario. Her sweet, brash sellsword. Truth be known, she was a little surprised to see him here, with Jorah of all people, but thankful for it all the same. 

“Have they hurt you?” Mormont asked, as he began moving closer, only to stop midway. As if reminded again of their current reft state. 

Or perhaps it was something else holding him back, something he dare not speak of. 

She solemnly shook her head, a small smile touching her lips. “No. I’m fine.” 

Daario’s eyes passed from His Queen to Jorah, taking in the scene, feeling oddly incongruous and envious of how these two had a strange habit of making other members in the room seem irrelevant. 

“As lovely of a reunion as this is, we really need to go… _now_.” Naharis advised.

“You take me with you.” Jeshi declared. “That was deal.” 

The sellsword gave her a deadpan look. “But I thought you meant,” And then shook his head. “…Never mind.” 

“Wait.” Daenerys said. “We will never get out of Vaes Dothrak alive.” 

“We have to try, Khaleesi.” Jorah offered. 

“No....I have a better plan.” Her eyes darting to each one. “And I need your help.” 

**-x-x-x-**

“Bring in Drogo’s widow.” Khal Moro shouted.

The doors to the Dosh Khaleen opened, aa Jeshi escorted the silver haired Khaleesi inside, sharing a knowing look with the rumored, Mother of Dragons before leaving.

“Look at her.” One Khal commented. “She is almost too short to fuck.” 

“I still would like to try.” Another said. 

“She is too pale. White as a ghost.” The previous Khal complained, clearly disagreeing with his equal. 

Another regarded her closely, obviously liking what he saw. “I would mount her. I always wanted to mount a Khal’s widow.” 

“She belongs to the Dosh Khaleen.” Moro warned, having enough of the other Khal’s impertinent banter.

“The Wise Masters of Yunkai have offered ten thousand horses for her.” A bloodrider proposed. “And the Imperial Majesty of Astapor has offered five thousand slaves.” He added. “Why keep the slut, when we can gain more by bartering with her.” 

Moro glared at him. “Fuck Astapor. And fuck Yunkai. If the Dothraki want their horses and slaves, we will take them for ourselves.” 

“Do I not have a say?” Daenerys asked in the Dothraki tongue.

All the Khal’s turned their attention to her once again, clearly displeased that a Khaleesi did not know her place among them. 

“Perhaps you do want to be sold?” Khal Moro threatened. “Or maybe we should give you to Khal Jhaeqo to mount.” 

The Khaleesi’s eyes darkened. “No. I do not like either of those offers.” 

“You are not Dosh Khaleen. It does not matter what you want.”

Ignoring his slight, Daenerys began dangerously circling the temple of the Dosh Khaleen, her words dripping with venom. 

“Tell me, what have you accomplished to rule over any Khalasar?” She paused, her eyes taking in every Khal sitting in the room. “Cut braids from weak men, raid a few defenseless villages, take what is not yours, claim prized horses as your tribute…rape and beat women. You are small men, who lead small lives. None of you are fit to lead.” 

Khal Moro aggressively stood to his feet, his Dothraki tongue stern and threatening. “You hypocritical cunt. You’re just like us. Meereen was not yours to take. Yunkai’s slaves were not yours to free.” He spat. “No, you will not be part of the Dosh Kholeen.” The Khal stalked toward her. “And you will never lead the Dothraki.” He leaned down, eye level with Dany, both challenging the other. “…But _you_ will serve us.” 

“And you will die.” She threatened.

Moro leaned back and laughed, while the other Khals mocked her. Making vile comments of how women were not made to rule but created to be rode instead.

“You think you are the Great Stallion? That you decide our fate? Here, you are Queen of nothing, you crazy bitch.”

Daenerys smirked. “No, I will not decide your fate.” She nodded in the direction of the open window vents behind every sitting Khal. “But he will.”

Moro and the other Khals turned to look over their shoulders, unsure of what they were seeing. Whatever it was, it was as black as any shadow with glowing, amber eyes, crouched down securely behind the temple, watching. 

They all moved in for a closer inspection, only to see the object move and make a deep, guttural growl that seemed almost unworldly. It was Moro that noticed how its eyes followed their every move, as if stalking its prey. 

Daenerys eagerly watched as Khal Moro moved up to the window, wrapping his hands around the wooden bars, curiously peering out.

 _“What the hell is that?”_ He said more to himself, than to anyone else.

“That is my child, deciding the fate of the men who enslaved his mother.”

Suddenly, it became clear to all of them, just what was watching them on the other side of those temple walls. 

A _dragon_. 

And not just any dragon. This one saw their prized prisoner as it’s mother. Apparently, the rumors were true. Daenerys Targaryen did birth three dragons from Drogo’s pyre and every Khal in this temple just risked waking it’s wrath by unknowingly threatening its mother right in front of him.

Moro turned to the other Khal’s, only to see their expressions creased in fear, slowly backing away, careful not to rouse his temper any further.

“He will never do it,” One Khal frantically shouted to the others. “…not while his mother is in here.” 

Daenerys’ tone was steely and cold. “He has nothing to fear. Fire cannot burn a dragon.” 

Suddenly, Drogon’s mouth opened and the Khal’s could see the fire beginning to form in his throat, their fate sealed.

“Run!” Moro screamed. 

The men scrambled for the exit, only to find it barred shut by Jeshi, as her Khaleesi had requested. 

The last thing Daenerys heard was the frantic screams and pounding against the doors as Drogon expelled his flame, lighting up every Khal his amber eyes had previously sought out for revenge.

**-x-x-x-**

Jorah, Jeshi and Daario watched safely in the darkness of an abandon alley, as thousands of Dothraki gather around the burning temple, its flames now reaching high into the sky. 

The two men share an anxious glance, as they look back to the blazing fire, worried that their dragon Queen may not resurface, unscathed a second time. 

Of course, Daario had heard the stories of how Daenerys’ dragons had been born, but he had never truly witnessed the account himself. Not like the man standing beside him did and yet, even he was growing concerned by the Queen’s lack of emergence from the flames. 

And then, Jorah’s head raised a little higher, as he took a small step forward, his eyes squinting as he looked closer into the flames. Curious, Naharis turned to look as well, clearly seeing a silhouette moving through the flames, as some of the wooden beams began to crumble, giving way to the heat. 

Within seconds, their Queen materialized through the fire, like some naked goddess that even The Seven would envy. The horde of Dothraki watched in amazement, as the flames burned around her. The flames worshipping her in a way that even they refused to burn something so precious and rare. 

But nothing prepared Jorah or Daario for their next reaction, as Drogon stood to his full length, much bigger than the last time they saw him. His broad, winged shoulders spanning out past the burning temple, as he firmly planted his clawed hands on either side of his mother, as if to say, _‘look at what we’ve done.’_

A message of strength the newly acquired Dothraki seemed to read, loud and clear, as they fell to their knees and bowed, along with Jorah, Jeshi and Daario, before their chosen leader – the Khaleesi who will mount the world. 

**-x-x-x-**

 

_**The Next Morning in Vaes Dothrak** _

 

Daenerys is staring. She shouldn’t be, but she is. 

It was innocent, it really was. The need to digest the scene playing out before her was merely born out of curiosity and nothing more. 

She emerged from her hut, Daario still fast asleep inside. Her eyes instantly drawn to the black smoke billowing up into the sky, from what used to be the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen, reduced to ashes now.

Her eyes scanned through the mother of mountains to Drogon playing in the early morning sky. A small smile touched her lips as she watched her child, amazed at how big he was still getting.

She really wasn’t looking for him, but something caught her attention nearby, causing her eyes to stop reading her surroundings and pause on her former advisor instead.

He was sitting in a chair, in front of his tent, as Jeshi appeared to be making a fuss over him. Her hands continuously returning to his forehead, no matter how many times Ser Jorah tried to dodge her ministrations.

It was… _strange_. Foreign even. Seeing him like that.

Seeing him beside another woman whom was not her and yet, she couldn’t help the speculations that filled her mind on his association with the girl.

“They used to be lovers, you know.” Daario said from behind her, yawning. 

She slowly let out a breath, completely unaware that she had been holding it in. 

“Does that bother you?” 

Daenerys swallowed hard and forced a smile to her lips, as she tore her eyes away from the domesticated scene. 

“Bring Ser Jorah to me and then ready the Dothraki for our journey back to the city.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new chapter, as I promised. Hopefully you guys enjoy it and the characters are still, in character. I think that is my biggest struggle for now, making sure the characters sound and act like themselves in the TV Show. 
> 
> I'm still working on Chapter 4. But if the reviews do well, I may very well update early through the week, as opposed to next weekend. 
> 
> I promise that by Chapter 6 or 7, you guys should see where this story is heading. It's a slow build, I know, but it really has to be like this in order to do justice to the story. Otherwise, it will be rushed and pretty much everywhere. 
> 
> I keep catching myself wanting to post longer chapters, in order to get the story moving along faster, just so I can get to the good parts as a writer. But, it does take time and I know that and I have to be patient with it. So, if you guys just stick with me for a few more chapters, I promise, you will be in for a good story. 
> 
> And once again, thank you all for the amazing reviews. They really do fuel an author. :)


	4. Haunted

Five minutes. 

That’s how long he had been standing inside his Khaleesi’s Dothraki hut, hands locked patiently in front of him, head bowed slightly in shame, discreetly stealing glances at her, but never able to get his fill.

Daenerys’ back was to him, her proud disposition speaking every bit of the royal, Targaryen blood that ran through her veins. Her posture never once belying the internal battle her heart was waging inside. 

Jorah clears his throat and the action seems to snap her out of her fugue state. 

When she turns to acknowledge his presence, she blinks at him, and quietly gazes at him for so long that it becomes slightly awkward. 

She tries to hide it. Tries with every atom of her body not to betray the courtly stance it took her five minutes to successfully acquire without casting one look in his direction. But when their eyes meet, it falters, and he sees right through the cracks, sees the war his Queen is currently campaigning against herself.

But he resists the urge to hold her, certain that the attempt to do so would seal his fate. 

“You betrayed me,” She began. “…and you saved my life.”

He looks at her for a long moment, serious and thoughtful, like he has a lot he wants to say, but instead, lets it go.

“I banished you…twice. And twice you came back.” Jorah lowered his head, eyes downcast. “If I return with you by my side, my people will think me weak.” Daenerys scoffs, _“The Queen of Meereen, breaker of promises.”_ Then her intonation becomes more serious. “If I send you away…” She trails off, the thought left unfinished.

Her eyes drift to some unknown object, contemplating. A wry smile begins to form on her lips, as if remembering all the times he had ever returned to her. 

_'You came back,’_ She would always say.

When she spoke again, her voice was soft and low… _different._

“But I trust that even if I decide such a course, you will return even still.” 

He half-smiles down at the floor, self-deprecation in every line of his body. 

Their eyes are drawn back to each other, like gravity, and the amount of tenderness she finds in his blue depths, only confirm her suspicions. 

“I’m afraid you leave me very little choices, Ser Jorah.” She began walking toward him, resolved to hold him. “I can’t send you away –

“You must.” He interjected, backing further from her. Too far for her liking.

Dany’s steps halted and for a second, a pained expression filtered through her features and he instantly wanted to smooth away every trace of hurt he had ever caused her. 

She watched anxiously as he began rolling up the sleeve to his left arm, revealing the grey cracks that were fissuring up what used to be tanned skin. His hand seemed to be unaffected for now, but for how long, she did not know. 

Daenerys eyes began tearing up, her bottom lip slightly quivering as the ability to draw air into her lungs, suddenly became a strenuous effort.

“How long does it take?”

Jorah began lowering his sleeve. “I don’t know but I’ve seen what happens to a man whose infected…I’ll end things before then.” 

She held his gaze, her eyes silently pleading for him to fight. One last time…for her. 

“Surely there is a cure?” 

The distraught look in his eyes told her otherwise.

“I’m sorry” she confessed. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” 

Of their own volition, tears streamed down her face, though her heart never gave them permission to do so.

“Khaleesi…please don’t.” 

“Where will you go?” She choked out. 

“I don’t know that either.”

And she found herself wishing things had been different between them. That the tethering of their friendship had never been so harshly tested and tried.

Her former Queensguard regarded her with sad, serious eyes. Like a man haunted by a thousand _‘what if’s’._

And perhaps he was. 

As was she. 

It’s one of the reasons their souls connected on such a deep level. They both have been visited by ghosts all their life, entertaining them for far too long. 

The key to their salvation being found in another kindred spirit.

Another reason why his betrayal cut her soul to the quick.

“I’ve never admitted it. Not out loud.” He said, briefly glancing to the ground, nervously fiddling with his hands before confirming what countless men with false intentions had surmised before. “But I love you…I have always loved you and I always will. Another fate I’ve resigned myself too.” 

And there it was. 

The cusp of their predicament. 

A story of unrequited love. 

Another melancholy song for the history books of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daenerys watched as his right hand reached into the hem of his kilt and pulled out her pearl ring, holding it up so she could see it, then gently laying it upon the table, pinning her eyes to his as he did so. 

“Goodbye, Khaleesi.” 

He lightly bowed and with one last look, he turned to leave, pushing the flap to her hut back, but the urgent intonation of her words prevented him from leaving. 

“You save my life and then you abandon me?” He can’t really remember a time she had ever sounded so desperate. But there she was, determined to stop whatever foolish errand he was heading off to commit. “I have not given you permission to leave, Jorah the Andal.” Her voice cracked. “You swore an oath to me, do you remember?” 

He turns over his shoulder to look at her.

“Aye.” 

“You promised yourself to me…you pledged to obey my commands for the rest of your life.” She pauses and he lightly bows, silently acquiescing to its truth. “I command you to find a cure, where ever it may be in this world. You will heal yourself and then return to me.” 

Jorah blinks and his expression tells her he is trying to work something out, trying to find a way to hold onto this last string of hope. 

But he makes no guarantees. No promises. And it was so much like him, to not make promises that he can't foresee keeping.

Even his goodbyes are directed by his honor.

In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. But she can see it, the fire reigniting in his spirit and that’s enough to reassure her heart that he will do everything within his power to come back. 

Jorah holds her eyes for a heartbeat longer, another silent _‘I love you,’_ transcending the gulf to her heart, before he leaves her for what she hopes to be the last time. 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 **Later that night in the Dothraki Sea**

 

“Ah, there you are.” Daario said. 

But Daenerys didn’t respond.

He observed her quietly. 

She sat upon her bed, absently playing with her necklace between her fingers, her thoughts somewhere else, somewhere far away from the Dothraki Sea…and from him. 

He waited, watching as his Queen was still oblivious to his proximity. Her hut was dark, the only light flickering from the flames of a small fire nearby. Its illumination kissing her features perfectly. 

Daario moved closer, fully intent on comforting her tonight. 

Yes, he was a man, but he was no fool. He knew what plagued her thoughts and he intended to help her forget. It was what he was good at, the very reason she kept him around and in her bed. It was the foundation of their relationship – the forgetting.

He placed a gentle hand upon her arm, announcing his presence. Dany slightly started, giving him a look over her shoulder, along with a sad smile. 

His eyes moved to the necklace, noticing that she had no such thing around her neck the night before. 

From what he could tell, it was handmade. A simple, black string, unworthy of adorning a Queen, or the double-sided pearl ring hanging from it. 

Daario watched as she followed his gaze, then briefly looked away, not trusting her eyes to betray her thoughts. 

But he knew. 

He had seen it in her eyes all day, read it in her body language and heard it through her silence. 

She had been distant all day. Lost in her thoughts and he had suspected that her former advisor was the prime suspect behind the distraction. 

The pearl ring, a ring Ser Jorah recently had in his possession, confirmed as much. 

Before, it’s meaning had no value. A gift that represented a controversial marriage, from an even more questionable man. 

But now, it had been re-gifted back to her by a much different man, vitally increasing its merit by about as much worth as those ridiculous books he had discovered her reading in her chambers the first night she banished him. 

“Are you alright, your Grace? I know the day has been hard on you.” 

“I’m fine.” She nonchalantly drops the ring from her fingers. “And yes, it was a rough journey…but nothing I haven’t grown accustom too.” 

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I was not speaking of the journey.”

He nodded toward the ring and she knew he had guessed the subject of her muse. 

“He was your closest friend. It’s only right that you miss him.” Daario explained, trying to relieve whatever guilt she had been feeling for sending him away a third time.

“I didn’t banish him.” Daenerys whispered, her words barely audible. 

“What?” 

Her voice was louder this time, clearer. But with the same depth of sadness. 

“I did not banish him.” 

She tried to ignore the surprised expression on her lover’s face. 

“Because he saved your life?” He surmised. “Despite being a pain in my ass as far as you are concerned, Ser Jorah is a good man. Perhaps one day, I’ll be just like him.” 

But his Queen remained silent on the matter, so he moved to sit beside her, his hand reaching for hers. 

“So, if our dear Knight has been welcomed ba –”

“He’s dying.” Daenerys blurted out. “As angry as I was…I banished him because I couldn’t bring myself to pass down a death sentence.” The revelation hangs in the air, then she laughs darkly. “And somehow, he manages to go and find one himself.” 

Daario patiently listened to her burden.

There was something so heavy about the weight of this one. It held so much of her past. So much of her history – the transformation of a Princess to a Queen. 

Memories could be just as much of a burden, as a blessing. Especially if all you long for is to be free of them. 

“I commanded him to find a cure.” 

That comment received a dubious, raised brow from her lover.

“What?” She defended. “It was better than his alternative. Besides, he needed the hope.” 

“Jorah needed it?” He questioned. “Or you did?” 

The last part came out a bit harsher than he intended, more envious. 

_“Don’t.”_ Daenerys warned. “Not tonight…Don’t be jealous of him tonight.” 

“Me? Jealous of Jorah the Andal?” He snorted a laugh, “Never.” He teased, gently squeezing her hand, reassuring her. 

“But it would please you to finally be rid of him.” 

“Gods yes!” His Queen almost smiled. _Almost._ “…Like I said, he’s been a pain in my ass.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” She countered, playfully nudging his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m certain of it.” He smirked. “But only because I have what he wants.” 

Her eyes sharply turned away, her breath catching in her throat.

“I am not some prized mare to be won.” She bluntly chastised.

His eyes soften, apologetically. “I know this, my Queen.” 

“Do you?” She snapped back.

 _“You.”_ Daario emphasized, leaning in to place a chaste kiss to her bare shoulder. “…Are much,” another kiss to her neck. “much more.” 

She closes her eyes and sighs, surrendering to his seduction. Or maybe she was just succumbing to the temptation to forget. 

As for which one it was, she couldn’t say.

His lips move up to the shell of her ear, whispering. 

“Let me help you.” 

And without warning, her mind flashes back to Qarth. 

They were arguing. 

She was being obstinate and cynical over her destiny. And Ser Jorah was being just as frustratingly adamant and reassuring of his faith in her. 

It was something he had always done, her bear – He always knew how to chase the demons away.

 _‘No one can survive in this world without help. No one.’_ With pure clarity, she remembers the surety behind his graveled voice. _‘Let me help you.’_

It was Daario’s hand sliding up her inner thigh that brought her back, his lips moving further down her neck.

Her hand seizes his, pausing his movements.

“Stop.” She commands. 

Her response was a little too taciturn for him. He would prefer a broader explanation, such as _why_ she wanted him to stop, but nevertheless, he froze. 

And he hopes she knows. 

Hopes she can see that he’s trying really hard to be patient here, but she’s making it very difficult. Especially since he’s noticed that her rejection of him is slowly becoming a common occurrence. Too common for his liking. One of the many reasons behind his reoccurring visits to the brothels of Meereen, but he would have rather died a slow death than reveal that to Jorah the Andal.

At first, he explained her indifference away as her preparing to move across the Narrow Sea to Westeros. She’s reminded him countless times, of how she would need to be free to wed a highborn King. One who could help unite her people behind her. 

And he knew it to be true. She had already set him aside for one political marriage. What was one more to her?

He was not blind. What they had found in each other was not permanent, it wasn’t a stopping point, a safe place to rest her heart for good.

Which was a shame, because he was good for her. He made her happy and he knew it. 

Except when _he_ came between them. 

Much like he was right now.

 _‘It must be hell,’_ Daario thought. _‘To have successfully convinced yourself that you don’t care for something, when in truth, it’s really all you want.’_

“What’s stopping you tonight?” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Tell me what’s wrong, so I can set it right.” 

“I just need to be alone tonight.” 

He knew this side of her well. 

That’s code for I need to remember. To remind myself of who I am and where I’ve come from.

It was a dangerous prospect to leave her alone to such devices, especially like this… _sad._

But not just any kind of sad. This one was the self-loathing kind. The one you feel like you deserve, the kind you use to punish yourself for missed opportunities and stupid choices that only become clearer in hindsight. 

“I really don’t think that’s wise?”

She shot a challenging look in his direction, then quickly turns away when the realization dawns in his eyes, her hand absently reaching back to the pearl ring dangling from her necklace. 

There was ghosts here tonight. Not the dead themselves, but something more worldly. She was being haunted, but only by things that could have been and never was. 

“Ah, I see…My Queen wishes to dance with her ghosts.” 

Clearly, she was not in need of his services tonight.

Fine by him. 

Daenerys watches as he stands to his feet and bows graciously. 

“As my Queen commands.” 

He says with disgusting sincerity before leaving, with no hint of regret. 

_‘Let those that are dead…or soon to be dead, keep her company.’_ Daario thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I hope you guys enjoyed the new chapter. I know Daario seems a little better in this one. Kind of. Sort of-ish. Maybe? But I do believe that his love for Daenerys is self-motivated and I tend to write him from that view point. I always thought they were both using each other in the show. He seemed to be nothing more than a relief from her loneliness. But that was just my take on it. 
> 
> Second, I am so sorry it took me so long to update. Things can get pretty busy when you’re a single momma of two and work a full-time job. But I promise to make it up to you all.
> 
> Thirdly, be on the lookout for another update by the end of this week (maybe sooner). The chapter is finished, I just need to do some revising and tweaking. The next chapter will get the story moving along pretty nicely, you still won’t know exactly what’s happening yet or where it’s going but, I am dropping little hints along the way. This chapter was loaded with them. 
> 
> And chapter six will be the revelation where you guys see where it’s heading. I may be able to slip it into chapter five but it’s already nine pages long and possibly growing. So, I’ll have to see how it reads and go from there. And once again, thank you for all the lovely reviews and kudos. 
> 
> We’re almost to the good parts, so stay with me. Be blessed guys!!!


	5. Ice Reunites with Fire

_**The Great Pyramid of Meereen** _

**_Two months later…_ **

 

Tyrion met Daenerys in her chambers, relieved to find her alone. 

“Your Grace, I am glad that you are back safely. Your people have been awaiting your return.”

Dany peered out from her balcony to Slaver’s bay. 

“I see that my city is not how I left it.”

Tyrion swallowed hard from the criticism lacing her voice. _‘No, it was in worse shape before – chaos, uprising and an imbalance of power that was in dire need of good counsel.’_ That’s what Tyrion wanted to say but thought better of it.

“No, Your Grace. But I have set a plan in motion to restore Meereen, if it pleases you to stay.”

“You have a plan…” She repeated mockingly. “Now, you have a plan?” Finally, she turned, giving the dwarf a pointed glare. “Tell me, what sort of plan have you crafted now?”

“One that will bring the people of Meereen back to your side and possibly break the local rebellion. We have established peace for now.”

“For now?” Daenerys arched an eyebrow in response. “The only way to stop the local rebellion is to crush those behind it.” 

“Perhaps not.” Tyrion reminds her. “If Your Grace will allow, there is someone I wish for you to meet in the audience chamber.”

Tyrion regarded her once more, motioning his arm towards the open exit. 

“Must I say please, Your Grace?”

“You never struck me as much of a beggar.”

“As always, you are wise beyond your years.”

And the Queen did something he has yet to have seen, she smiled. 

It was vague, but there nonetheless. 

The lighthearted pun succeeding in convincing her to acquiesce to his request and follow him through the hall of the pyramid.

A few moments later, the two entered the audience chamber. Greyworm and Missendei were in their usual place on the left of the plain, ebony bench, with Daario occupying the right. 

When Dany looked in the direction of the visitor, her steps instantly slowed, and her mood dampened back to its previous state.

Standing at the bottom of the marble steps was a dark-haired woman, dressed in a red velvet dress, adorned with a matching hooded cloak. The Queen thought her to be in her mid-thirties, some sort of witch or priestess. 

Either way, she was none too thrilled to see her.

Her eyes darted to Tyrion, her displeasure evident. “Who is this?”

“This is Kinvara…A High Priestess from Volantis.” 

The red priestess stared at Daenerys, transparently measuring her rule as Queen and clearly finding her wanting…for now.

“We do not dabble in Black magic.”

“This is not black magic, Your Grace. I sent for her shortly after the incident at Daznak’s Pit. She has traveled far in order to assist me in stabilizing the city. The efforts of her faith have proven to be very convincing to the people of Meereen.”

Daenerys arched an expressive brow. “And this religion you speak of, is it the reason for my city’s chaos?”

“The Lord of Light did not send Meereen into a civil war…neglect and lack of judgement did.”

The Priestess clearly wasn’t aware of speaking out of term, or she simply just didn’t care. 

“You should be mindful of whom you are addressing.” Dany shot back.

“As should you, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons.”

The Queen’s eyes widened at the insult, suddenly feeling the need to defend her reign.

“I freed these people from their chains, or did your god not see that?”

“Only a child would cast blame on what they do not understand. The Lord of Light sees all. Tell me Mother of Dragons, why is it that you claim to know your destiny and yet, you cannot even decipher the secrets of your own heart?” 

Daenerys blinked, her mouth slightly agape as the high priestess slowly climbed up the steps, recounting the Queen’s inner thoughts out loud, as if to prove her God’s worth.

 _“‘Do I go forward, or do I go back? Should I go to Westeros or stay in Meereen?’”_ She peered at Daario with a knowing look. _‘“Do I choose the Tyroshi sellsword or the Wester –’”_

“I think that is enough!” Daenerys cut in, a look of pure horror on her face. 

Kinvara laughed. “The Lord of Light is right…The girl longs for more than just the red door in Braavos.”

“Tyrion,” The Queen’s voice was stern, yet resolved. “…Escort the Priestess from my sight.”

The dwarf quickly tried to salvage what he could of the situation. “Not the best first impression, I admit, but please, just hear her out.”

“Just so she can offend me further. My mind is set. Remove her. Religion or not, she has no place in my court.”

The Queen turned to leave, but Kinvara’s words stayed her.

“You cast me from your presence without knowing the fate of your Knight?” 

Daenerys froze.

With her shoulders locked in place, she slowly turned to face the Priestess once more. Effortlessly disciplining the shocked expression into indifference, feeling oddly exposed under Kinvara’s intense stare.

The Queen regards the priestess cautiously, but the stern intonation of her voice tells Tyrion that her words are directed at him.

“Does she speak the truth?”

The dwarf merely nodded. 

The Queen’s breath began to quicken, as well as her heart. 

“Why did you bring him here?” Daario asked, concerned. 

A baffling expression filled the Red Priestess features, as if the answer he sought was in plain sight. 

“Because the Lord of Light commanded it. Ice must be reunited with fire.” 

The sellsword exchanged an unsettling look with the Queen, completely creeped out. 

A reassuring smirk touches the Priestess lips. “You have nothing to fear from me, Your Grace. You are the one who was promised. You have been sent to lead the people through the darkness. In this war and in the great war to come. From the fire you were reborn to make the new world…And from the fire, R’hllor brings a gift.”

Kinvara moved aside, clearing Daenerys’ line of vision to the entrance of the audience chamber, where _he_ stood. 

In a black suit of armor, a black cloak flowing from his shoulders, with his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. 

He looked strong and healthy and very, _very_ unsure as he began walking towards her. 

No doubt reminded of the last time he stepped into this chamber. Both outcomes ended badly for him and he didn’t seem to have much stock placed into this one either. 

Jorah stopped just short of her, bending the knee and bowing. 

“Your Grace.” His gruff voice says. 

With an eye still trained to her, he slowly stands. 

“Your better?” It came out sounding a little too hopeful.

He glanced to Kinvara, then back to Daenerys.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” With downcast eyes, he shifts nervously. “I return to your service, My Queen…as you commanded.” Then his eyes meet hers with apprehension, “But only if you’ll have me.”

A soft smile comes to her lips, a familiar light in her eyes. 

“I would be honored.” She says, closing the distance and embracing him. 

Jorah keeps his hands to his side. 

Doesn’t return the embrace. 

Or dare to touch her. 

To afraid that it would ruin the moment and send her fleeing from him.

Being held by her never really seemed like a possibility, so when her left hand slides into the ends of his hair, his breath catches, while her right arm pulls him tighter, molding him to her.

He tries to convince himself that he’s not taking a liberty by resting his face in the crook of her neck. That she had placed him at an impossible position by pulling him down to that angle, but gods, it felt so right. 

Of course, being with her always felt right.

Every time he saw her, a strange, unexplainable serenity would engulf him. A blanket of peace that could only be likened to a lost man finding his way back home. He had never intended to love her. He was only first enamored by the transition of an insecure princess to a Queen – a child to a dragon. 

But the woman behind all that was more… _so much more._

Thoughts of entertaining another with his affections were ludicrous to him, almost laughable. It was over for his heart, it beat only for her now. He had crossed the gulf to her, and all thoughts of Bear Island had shriveled in the distance and became void to him. His only home would forever be associated with her…because it was her.

He knows she’s not entitled to feel the same, but he would endure greyscale all over again just to learn the secrets to her heart. To fight his way out of this perpetual, stagnant state. To stop being nothing more than a smoldering ember in the ashes of this dragon’s fiery wake. Endlessly, waiting for its rider to take notice of his unwavering devotion, breath life upon him and watch how brightly he would burn for her. 

_Only her._

But he knows the cold, hard truth. 

_Gods,_ how he knows, you can’t start a fire without a spark.

He hates to do it, but he doesn’t want her to get the impression that he’s taking advantage of a tender moment. So, he’s the first to back away, but he makes the mistake of turning his face toward her and their separation pauses, eyes locked. 

And for a moment, that spark he was just lamenting about suddenly appears in her depths and there’s a familiar intensity – the kind of fervor that makes you dimly aware of those around you.

It’s brief. A flash and then it’s gone. 

But his vigilant eye catches it, despite how short-lived. 

“Greyworm.” Daenerys says, “Please escort Ser Jorah to his old chambers. I’m sure he would like to get settled back in.” 

Her Captain nodded, not questioning the command, or the scene he just witnessed before him. 

And then Dany turned back to Kinvara, catching the knowing expression upon her face. 

“You will stay with us.” The Queen smiled softly, “You gave Ser Jorah back to us. A great deed warrants a great reward. Name whatever you desire, and it is yours.” 

“The Lord of Light procures all that I need, Your Grace. But I will be back…when the time is right.” 

Tyrion hurriedly stepped forward. 

“But in the meantime, you will support our Queen?” 

“I will summon my most eloquent priests and they will spread the word of Daenerys Stormborn far and wide.”

Kinvara regarded Daenerys. “You have many battle grounds to cover, Your Grace.” She paused, giving one last warning before leaving. “Do not let your heart be one of them.” 

A bewildered expression filled the Queen’s features. “I’m not sure that I understand.” 

“You will soon enough.” She responded cryptically.

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

Her lips are on his…hard and desperate. 

_Needy._

There’s no foreplay. 

Not tonight. 

And he can see that she’s eager to get things moving along, but his lack of motivation just isn’t meeting her expectations. 

In fact, the growl that erupts from the back of her throat tells him as much.

With a sudden, abrupt stop, Daenerys breaks the kiss and moves off of him, to her previous position on the couch. 

She doesn’t even cast a concerned look in his direction. 

No, those looks are reserved for someone else, but she’ll never admit to it. 

Daario watches as she reaches for her wine glass and takes a sip, then pins him with a stern glare over its rim. 

He’s disappointed her, that much is clear. 

His Queen lowers her glass, swallows her wine gracefully and arches a curious brow.

“Something particularly on your mind tonight?”

Dear gods, he could read between the lines. 

He knew the double meaning to that question.

Knew what she was really asking – _‘What’s keeping you from getting it up?’_

If she really wants to know, then he would be all too happy to oblige her. 

_“So…_ Ser Jorah is back.” He states a little too sarcastically.

Now she averts her eyes, blowing out a puff of breath and looking away.

“I’m not doing this right now.” She tells him, standing up and walking toward the decanter to refill her glass. 

“What?” He says innocently. “I do not wish to argue with you.”

She drops her shoulder, to turn a flat stare in his general direction. 

“Honestly, I don’t.” He says with a half-laugh, trying to ease the tension filling the room. “I’m just trying to understand why you welcomed him back.” 

“It is not your place to decide.” She snaps back defensively. 

Daario holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright, then help me understand your decision.” 

She blinks and her expression tells him she is trying to work something out, but if he’s expecting an answer, she’s not very forthcoming. 

His tone softens this time. “You were very angry with him before, enough to banish him twice.” 

“I think being enslaved and contracting greyscale is enough penance for one life, wouldn’t you agree?” 

He wanted to say no but knew how disgruntled and pathetic he would sound if he did. 

“Are you in love him?” 

_There._

The question was out there. 

The dramatic snap of her head in his direction, along with the affronted expression that painted her features, was enough to even give him cause to doubt his own suspicions. 

Either she truly didn’t love him, or she was one hell of an actress. 

“How dare you ask me that.” She accused. “He is my closest friend, not my lover.”  


He doesn’t doubt that Jorah is her closest friend, but that’s not the question he’s posing. 

“You’ve never thought about it?” 

Her brows creased intensely. “About what?” 

“Sleeping with him? I mean, why me and not him?” 

She hesitated. “Because I don’t love him.” 

The argument made her look hypocritical and she knew it.

“You don’t love me either and yet, here I am.” 

“I told you…I’m not doing this with you tonight.” 

Daenerys deflected, turning back toward her glass of wine and turning it up in a hurry, gulping down all of its contents.

“He hurt you deeply…That much I do know.” 

Her shoulders went stiff, but she remained silent, keeping her back to him. 

“Those things that he endured were not by your hand. It wasn’t your fault. You understand that, right?” 

Daenerys lowered her head, staring at the empty glass in front of her. 

Daario stood up and closed the distance to her, his hands resting on her shoulders, lightly kneading the muscles. 

“And you never wanted to hurt him back?” He paused. “Because it would be perfectly natural to feel that way.” 

She lightly turned her head in his direction, then looked away again. 

“I did hurt him.”

“No, his banishment was an outcome he brought upon himself by betraying you. A punishment you were forced to pass down – There’s a difference.” 

“I’m afraid you’re speaking in riddles.”

Daario gently turned her around to face him.

“What is the one thing that Ser Jorah wants more than anything?” 

He could see the answer dawning on her expressive face.

 _‘Me,’_ she thought.

“If you want your vengeance, to repay him for the hurt he has caused you, then give yourself to him for one night and never again after that. That will break him more than any infliction your hand could ever pass down.” 

Her eyes instantly grew cold, distant. 

_“The past”_ She steely intoned. “…Is in the past.” 

Daenerys roughly shrugged his hands off of her, then walked toward the exit to her chambers and waited, paralyzing him with a hard glare. 

“I think it’s time we say our farewells, Daario Naharis.” 

He hesitated, then slowly walked toward her.

“Forgive me, My Queen, I overstepped my bounds – ” 

_“For good.”_ She bluntly cuts in.

Daario blinks and his posture changes, he seems wrong-footed for a moment, but recovers. 

Without a word, he bows and leaves her chambers for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another new chapter…Yays! I actually had this one previously written and decided to scrap the original version because I was making things way too difficult and taking unnecessary routes to get to where we needed to be. So, this idea came to me yesterday and I seemed to like it better than the original. 
> 
> As far as the second half of this chapter with Daario and Dany. Well, his proposal actually started playing out in my head four years ago and has stayed with me ever since. The scene you guys read tonight, is basically what this WHOLE story is centered around. I know it may seem OOC for Daario (then again, maybe not) but he does have a reason for doing it. For pushing her toward Jorah. Of course, he knows she won't accept the offer, that's a given for him. Like I said, he has his reasons for doing it, but I can't give away too much. 
> 
> And don’t worry, Jorah’s cure will be explained in the next chapter, as well as Jeshi making another appearance. I basically skipped the whole process of how he was cured, but I thought it would be much easier to have him tell it to Dany, as opposed to me writing the whole thing out and setting us back about two chapters in the process. So yeah, your welcome. Now we can move on to the good stuff.
> 
> Next chapter you guys will really, really enjoy. But it won’t be posted till next weekend. If the reviews are good, it may happen sooner. And as always, you guys rock. I actually got some new reviews from some new readers, which is always a plus. I love hearing from each and every one of you, so keep them coming and I promise to reply.


	6. A Bear Reborn

Daenerys immediately noticed his absence from the council meeting. 

“Where is Ser Jorah?” 

Tyrion looks at her strangely and for a moment she regrets having said anything. 

“Last I checked, he was walking among the Dothraki camp outside the pyramid walls.” The Lannister answered vaguely. 

“Why?” Her response sounded too edgy, even to her. 

“You did appoint him General of your armies, did you not?” 

“Yes, but.” She faltered, then looked to her advisors. “…Was he not informed of the meeting?” 

“He was, Your Grace.” Varys answered. “But our dear Lord Commander thought it best to –”

Daenerys stormed out of the council room before the spy master even had time to finish, sending Grey Worm, Missandei and a handful of Unsullied rushing to catch up. Along with Tyrion calling after her with a disconcerted, _“Your Grace?”_

With a driven purpose in her steps, she made her way down the halls of the Great Pyramid, a long trail of unsullied and advisors struggling to keep pace. Any other time, she would have found the scene almost comical. But strangely enough, humor evaded her at the moment. 

She could see the sunlight streaming through the halls in the distance and knew she was almost to the exit. Her steps quickened until the corridor gave way to the Dothraki camp that was assembled outside. 

It didn’t take her long to find him. 

The gathering circle of Dothraki was easy to spot, luring any outsider to the commotion inside.

She pushed her way through, refusing to rely on any unsullied to make a way for her, until she reached the front of the amassed crowd, only to see him…with _her._

The motivation that was previously found in her steps suddenly dissipated, coming to an abrupt stop. As she remained completely oblivious to the domino effect of Unsullied guards pausing just as quickly to keep from bumping into the back of her. 

Despite the cheering, whistling and catcalls from the surrounding Dothraki, Ser Jorah remained focused to the task at hand, oblivious to his Queen’s arrival. 

And by the proud expression on Jeshi’s visage, she had clearly just made a bullseye with her arrow, while Ser Jorah was in the middle of aiming his, a vigilant eye on his target, trying to best her in an archery match.

He let his arrow go with ease, but his target left much to be desired, hitting the board drastically to the far left, which resulted in Jeshi squealing in victory. 

Archery clearly was not his specialty.

Daenerys watched as the Dothraki beauty jumped up and down in triumph, clapping her hands profusely. 

And for a moment, Dany thought that she could possibly learn to like this woman. Maybe even become friends. Not like her and Missandei, but friends nonetheless. 

She couldn’t stop the smirk forming over Jeshi’s dramatic reaction, oddly finding herself enjoying the girl’s victory alongside her. 

That was until she wrapped her arms around Ser Jorah’s neck and placed a chaste kiss to his lips, catching him off guard and simultaneously erasing the smile from her Khaleesi’s face.

A consolation prize for losing graciously, no doubt. 

One that rendered him speechless and unable to respond in kind. 

“Oh my,” Tyrion remarked in a side voice, the intrigue she heard in his tone irritating her profusely. “She _is_ quite beautiful.” 

Dany threw a pointed glare in his direction and he fumbled.

“Or not.” He quickly amended.

She managed another smile, smoothing her features to pure indifference as she stepped forward, the movement catching Jeshi’s attention, as she immediately went down to one knee before her Khaleesi, along with the rest of the Dothraki. 

Alarmed, Jorah turned around and the fear that flashed through his eyes could only be likened to a child caught in the very act of some mischief. 

“Your Grace,” He warily greeted with a slight bow. 

And suddenly, the ceremonious title, which had fallen from his lip’s countless times, agitated her.

It was too… _proper?_

Too detached.

It implied that their relationship was less than what it was. 

That their friendship was nothing more than cordial. 

A simple camaraderie. 

Leaving no traces of the past events they had endured together. The innumerable setbacks, the assiduous victories, the extensive late-night talks, the sleepless nights they suffered through, the arguments that prompted their restlessness to begin with – Time spanning from his betrayal to his return. Circumstances that proved their souls were cut from the same cloth – very, very old friends from long ago. Perhaps even a past life. 

They were one and the same, with a remarkable habit of concluding the other’s contemplation before it was articulated. No words were ever needed between them. They had established, inadvertently, the type of relationship that most friends…or even lovers would envy to taste in just one lifetime. But that seemed to dematerialize with his formality, which irked her all the more. 

Especially in front of _‘what’s her name.’_

“A word, Ser Jorah.” Her eyes darted to the woman beside him, giving her a lengthy, deprecating perusal. _“Alone.”_

He exchanged a disquieted glance with Jeshi, who blatantly rolled her eyes at the Queen’s overt slight. 

But the passive-aggressive response went unnoticed by their Khaleesi, as she was already half way back to the safety of the Great Pyramid, fully expecting Ser Jorah to blindly follow. 

And he did. 

All the way back to the Council room, where he found her alone and waiting on the balcony. 

The cautious footfalls of his boots signaling his arrival, but she refused to turn around, her eyes focused to the bay. 

He wasn’t sure, but he could of swore that he heard her sigh before she finally addressed him over her shoulder.

“You have only been back one day and already, you are testing my patience.” 

“Forgive me, Khaleesi.” Jorah lightly bowed an apology. “I only wanted to get reacquainted with the Dothraki –”

_‘Reacquainted with the Dothraki or with Jeshi?’_ Dany thought bitterly.

She was being irrational and stubborn. 

She knew it. 

But he was being just as blind.

And far too passive toward the pursuits of another woman.

A long pause stretches between them that makes her nervous. The kind of silence that convinces her, he has fled the scene altogether. 

So, when she breaks under its pressure and turns to face him, their eyes meet, and she instantly knows by his confounded expression that she’s unintentionally voiced her concerns aloud for gods and country to hear. 

But if she was the least bit repentant over the blunder, then it never showed.

The hard glare he was now receiving was proof of that, as if he was to blame for her lapse in transparency.

“My loyalty lies with my Queen.” 

He wanted to say more. 

_No,_ he needed to say more.

Daenerys could see the burden written in his eyes.

But he diverts his gaze, leaving the unsaid words open for interpretation and lost to time. 

She blinks, takes in a deep breath and tries to relax. 

Jorah regards her once again, with sad, serious eyes, the kind of eyes that show the inevitable blow of rejection.

He seemed so vulnerable to her in this moment and suddenly, she felt a soul-crushing love for him. It was the kind of affection that only a bearing of two souls could induce upon a heart. She was in unknown territory, but the influx of emotion was enough to pull her heart out of its hiding place and closer to him.

And of their own volition, her feet begin moving.

His forehead creases in concern, as she takes a step closer to him, his mouth slightly parting in anticipation, eyes cautiously following her every move. 

Daenerys stops in front of him but neglects to meet his questioning gaze. She softly grabs his left hand and he stills completely, his heart going into overtime. 

She silently turns it over, gently easing his sleeve up. 

With eyes focused, her thumb lightly brushes against the bare skin hidden underneath.

It’s a simple gesture, but its intimacy leaves a lasting promise. 

He’s staring. 

Mesmerized by the moment as her index finger lightly traces a vein back down his forearm to his wrist. 

The act feeling erotic. 

Suggestive. 

A foreshadowing of something more.

His body tunes into her touch, forcing himself to swallow and breathe.

When her eyes look up at him, she’s like a dream, suspended in ice. 

Tangible, and yet, intangible. 

She sees the look of disbelief etched into every line of his features, as if he can hardly believe what’s taking place before him. 

Her voice is soft, alluring. “Tell me, Ser Jorah, how were you cured?” 

His Queen could interrogate a thousand enemies with that bewitching intonation, and every last man would easily surrender his secrets to her cause.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion says, entering the council room. 

Daenerys drops his hand instantly, the moment broken and forever lost to countless others that have followed before.

She casually walks away from him and he’s struck by the physical degree of pain her absence induces from his circle. 

“The Great Masters are demanding to see you in the Audience Chamber.” His eyes go suspiciously from Jorah still frozen in place, to Daenerys’ carefully guarded demeanor. “They wish to voice their concerns over the Dothraki Army.” 

The Queen rolled her eyes in exasperation. 

“Considering their dealings with The Sons of the Harpy, I’m afraid their concerns mean very little to me.” 

“Still, it would be wise to hear them out. They claim that the Dothraki’s presence is in direct violation of the peace treaty we established in your absence.” 

She neutrally regards Ser Jorah. 

“We will finish this discussion later.” 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

He lingered just slightly past the entrance to her chambers, with his hands grasped tightly behind his back. 

It was late into the night. 

Very late. 

And he’s a little concerned as to why she’s called for him at such an hour, especially dressed like _that._

The sheer, light blue nightgown already threatening to be a beautiful distraction.

“Khaleesi.” He announces.

Her eyes turn to him and the soft smile she gives him slightly puts his anxiety at ease. 

“I can’t sleep,” She simply says, as if reading his thoughts. “Do you mind keeping me company, Ser Jorah?” 

He shook his head. “I serve at the pleasure of my Queen.” 

She arched a brow, then lightly pats the seat next to her on the couch. 

“Come. Sit with me.” Daenerys gives him a mischievous smile. “As I recall, you owe me a story.” 

Jorah slowly moves toward her and respectably chooses to sit further away, leaving a considerable distance between them. 

The quick flash of disapproval in her eyes lets him know that she’s noticed. And the fact that she takes the initiative and scoots closer, tells him that she cares very little for his propriety tonight. 

He tries to keep his eyes focused, willing himself to look at anything but the woman beside him. But he falters when her hand begins to move toward his left, then lightly taps his wrist, foregoing the intimate display from earlier. 

“Tell me.” She gently urges. 

“You will think me mad.” 

“I could never think of you as such.” 

He takes a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your words changed my intentions and gave me hope. I planned to journey to the Citadel in search of a cure. But...” 

“Something stopped you?” Daenerys finished for him. 

Jorah roughly rubs his hand over his beard and chuckles apprehensively.

“More like who.” 

Out the corner of his eye, he sees her give him another concerned glance, one, in a long line of concerned glances. 

He smiles softly when she briefly reaches out and squeezes his hand, encouraging him to continue. 

The gesture has the desired effect. 

“It was in the Painted Mountains that I heard it.” He says, eyes staring at the fire, remembering. “A voice in the flames.” He clarifies. “At first, I thought I was losing my mind and continued on to Old Town. But I heard it speak from the flames once more.” 

“What did it say?”

_“'A bear shall be reborn of fire and ice shall bow to its flame.'”_ Jorah shrugged his shoulders, still not understanding the event himself. “I’m not sure how, but I just knew to come back…Almost like a voice in my head, guiding me.” He paused, clearing his throat. “I turned east of Essos and headed toward Meereen. When I arrived, I waited by the docks of Slaver’s Bay. I had no clue what I was looking for, but she did.” 

Daenerys raised a brow. “Kinvara?”

Jorah nodded his assent. 

“I was taken to an Inn on the outskirts of Meereen. A place where they dared not question her Lord’s magic.” Jorah blushed slightly, shifting around in his seat. “She commanded me to take off my shirt.” He tried desperately to ignore the way his Queen’s eyes cut to his, suddenly not liking the turn in his story. “I did as she bid. Then I was given a vial and told to drink…Tears of a Virgin is what she called it.” 

“Tears of Virgin.” It was more a question than a statement. “…Why?” 

“I don’t know. The Red Priestess’ response was cryptic to say the least – _‘Only when fire and ice collide, shall what sleeps be reawakened.’”_

She watched as his eyes grew serious and distant, as if reliving the moment all over again. 

“It was then that it happened.” 

Daenerys frowned. “When _what_ happened?” 

“She began calling upon him...the one whose voice I heard in the flames.” 

Jorah nodded in the direction of the candle flickering beside him. “The Priestess’ began to chant some foreign prayer. As her words grew louder and more persistent, every flame responded, rising – the candles, the fire in the hearth, the sconces on the walls. And this unforeseen wind began to sweep through, but its breeze mattered not, because the fire continued on in its awakening.”

His right hand reverently touched his left, recalling every memory. “And before I could respond, her hands were on me. I could see…” He hesitated. “I could see this fire emanating from within the greyscale.” Jorah disbelievingly shook his head. “It felt like a fire shut up in my bones and it burned like the seven hells. I lost consciousness shortly after the process began. But when I awoke, the greyscale was gone – completely burned away.” 

Jorah’s eyes met hers, looking for any signs of doubt, but finding compassion instead.

“It’s hard to be a cynic after that.” He added.

“And you believe this god that she serves, this… Lord of Light, is the one behind your cure.” 

“I do.” 

Daenerys smiled softly. “Then we owe a debt we cannot pay.”

“I don’t think it’s the debt her god is concerned with.” 

His Queen reaches for her forgotten wine. “They never are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got another chapter up. I am so sorry guys, this story got put on the back burner for a short time. Someone that was very close to me was killed in a car accident and I was dealing with that and helping his family through the grieving process. 
> 
> I’m not particularly happy with this chapter. In fact, I think it may very well be the worst one, but I didn’t have the time I needed to focus on the chapter, or the drive to devote myself to its tweaking process. But, despite its short-comings, I still hope you guys enjoy it. 
> 
> The next chapter will be better. I’m not sure when chapter seven will come in, I’m working on it now. But I have a lot planned in the next week, as far as work and helping others that take precedence over this story right now. 
> 
> In the meantime, I will endeavor to work on it. 
> 
> Be blessed my lovely readers!


	7. When Lines are Crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a turning point, a defining crux in time, one of those rare moments where you just know that if you let this moment slip by, it will haunt you for the rest of your life. And so, after years of being passed over, he seized it…with both hands.

_One month later…_

 

Dany refilled his chalice, “Tell me…what made you choose me as your Queen?”

Jorah’s brows furrowed in consternation. 

He wasn’t exactly following her line of questioning. She already knew of his reasons for choosing her, he has spoken of it on many occasions. 

Some memorable, others quite mortifying in regard to her unrequited feelings. 

Perhaps it was the wine talking.

Or possibly that small, insecure girl he had encountered so many years ago in the Dothraki Sea. 

Then again, maybe she genuinely just needed to know, always seeking his counsel first before relying upon any other. 

Either way, he would indulge her, never truly being able to deny her anything. 

He took a small sip of his wine and cast a glance in her direction, only to find her intently studying him, patiently awaiting his answer with a coy smirk and an arched brow. 

“You have a gentle heart, Your Grace.” 

“Khaleesi.” She corrected. “When we are alone, I prefer that you call me Khaleesi.”

Yes, she knew the meaning behind the entitlement coming from a Dothraki horde. 

But she also knew that it was more of an endearment every time it fell from the lips of her Lord Commander. 

“As you wish, Khaleesi.” 

He observed her cautiously, as she stretched her arm across the cushion behind him and inched closer to his side. Her intonation taking on a new, unfamiliar sound to him. 

More light-hearted.

Flirty. 

Seductive. 

“So, it was my heart?” 

Jorah nodded, her proximity robbing him of words. 

“I have many enemies who would say otherwise. Surely there must be something amiss? Something that you don’t like? Everyone has their flaws.”

Now, he knew the wine was talking. 

His gaze diverts to the drink in her hand, then gently reaches for her chalice, their fingers lightly brushing in the process as he places it on the table. 

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight, Your Grace.” 

“Khaleesi.” She corrected again, causing Jorah to smile. “And I’m not drunk. Far from it.”

The room went silent once more and he was quite aware that his Queen was staring, as if caught up in the moment. 

“You hardly ever smile.” Dany noted. 

An uncommon action that she suddenly found to be an injustice, considering he was quite handsome when it did occur.

 _‘Wait a second,’_ Daenerys thought. _‘Where did that come from?’_

Jorah immediately looked down at his glass, clearing his throat as he moved to place it alongside hers, both forgotten and to bitter to sustain more. 

“It’s late, Khaleesi, and you need your rest.”

She watched as he refused to meet her gaze.

“You never answered my question.” 

“That’s because I wish to keep my head.” 

Dany laughed and his eyes could no longer stay away from beholding such a rarity.

 _‘She doesn’t smile very much either.’_ he idly thought. 

“Jorah?”

And there it was.

That impressionable sincerity that she only uses whenever she sought his counsel or reassurance.

He didn’t speak, but she knew he was listening. 

“Is this how it will always be? Will my people always see the Queen, but never the woman?”

The transparency of the question brings his eyes back to hers, causing her to realize how much she had missed him. 

When she had banished him, she immediately felt the loss of his character from her circle. But the imprint was not as definitive as the loss of his heart. 

Or the dissolution of her own spirit because of it. 

Either way, his absence had caused her to realize a horrifying truth; Jorah had occupied a great amount of her attention. 

“Truth now?” He asks. 

Daenerys nodded.

“You are both. The heart of the woman also beats inside the heart of my Queen. One cannot exist without the other. Your people see the strength you possess as a woman and choose to follow you, not out of loyalty or duty. I’m afraid your title means very little to them, but your desire to free them does. To see them as equals, all the while introducing them to this new world you envision. That alone reflects upon your heart. Do not dare say that they don’t see you, Khaleesi…no, they see you all too well.” 

Or perhaps _he_ does.

She just stared at him, surprised and yet, not so much. Her Knight always seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear.

“Although I must confess, your dragons may have played a tiny role in their conversion.” 

Dany chuckled, still regarding him as if she was seeing him for the first time. 

And maybe she was. 

“Now that the wine has loosened your tongue, perhaps you’ll answer my question now.” 

Jorah’s forehead creased in perplexity, proof that her previous inquiry had been long forgotten. 

“What flaws have you unearthed in Your Queen?” 

“I’m afraid that is dark talk, Your Grace.” 

She didn’t bother correcting him this time, no, her thoughts were focused solely on his comment…or his lack of one.

“You will answer the question, Ser.”

The stern cadence of her voice immediately told him that it was no longer a request, but a command.

“I can think of only one.” 

Daenerys remained silent but growing more impatient with his deflections. 

Jorah shifts, nervously scratching his beard.

She hadn’t realized how close they were sitting until now. 

He notices too. 

Long before she did. 

But only because it’s depriving him of his ability to process any coherent thought that exists outside the realm of her.

Daenerys’ brows crease dramatically in concern and he must have seen it because he delivers an answer she didn’t see coming. 

“The way you give your heart to men who do not deserve you.” he answers softly, his gaze not quite on her face.

A long lull falls over the room and suddenly he finds himself unable to bear the degrading moment any longer, so with a deep breath, he turns to face her. 

Dany blinks and her expression tells him she is trying to work something out. But she quickly recovers from the confession and her question comes out harsher than she intended.

“And you? Are you the only man deserving of me, Ser Jorah?” 

He turns away from the accusation and she discovers that she misses the connection instantly. 

Jorah shakes his head, smiles sadly. “No, that’s my least favorite thing about myself, I suppose... the fact that I’m not worthy of you.” 

She studies him intensely and he could swear that she’s peering into his very soul, as his confession replays over and over in her head.

“But I have every hope that you will find a man who is someday.” 

His eyes slowly meet hers and instantly, there was that familiar intensity that she always felt whenever they exposed their vulnerabilities to one another. 

An unwelcoming anticipation that seems to stir in her chest, causing her heart to race and her thoughts to run to places they should not.

At least not with him. 

And then she finds herself remembering Daario’s proposition. 

_‘If you want your vengeance, to repay him for the hurt he has caused you, then give yourself to him for one night and never again after that. That will break him more than any other infliction by your hand ever could.’_

She didn’t want to punish him. He had endured enough suffering for one lifetime. 

But yet, she couldn’t stop entertaining the thought of what it would be like – to be loved by someone so completely. 

Surely, he was a seasoned lover. 

_‘Jeshi would no more on that matter.’_ Daenerys ruefully thought. 

Although the girl is clearly smitten with him. 

While he, not so much. 

Jorah could easily seduce the girl. 

Fill her ear with sweet nothings, meaningless words that could make his bed not as lonely, his service to his Queen more bearable, and her inability to return his love, less painful. 

But he doesn’t act. 

And in that lies the problem. 

He _never_ acts. 

With so many missed opportunities, his soul must be as haunted as hers. 

“You know, Missandei says the Unsullied talk. Many still seek the comforts of a woman, whether it be touch, a kiss…or a _night_.” Something came over his face, and she saw the muscles in his jaw flex. “But you, they say you have never dared to seek after such things. Why?”

He frowned at her for a moment, a penetrating look on his face.

“You know why.”

“I wish to hear it from you.”

“I’ve spoken to you of my devotion.” 

“Really?” Daenerys snapped. “Perhaps you should tell me about Jeshi then.” She pushes a little, watching him squirm. “Why are you two not together?” 

“Because she’s not you.” He says with just as much conviction. 

The horror she saw in his face, revealed his words to be a slip of the tongue. 

Thoughts meant to remain unspoken, buried away in the far corners of his mind.

And he watches as every incentive that gave her cause to argue in that moment, die upon her lips. 

Her eyes soften noticeably, and her expression could be likened to an epiphany taking place.

An awakening of the heart. 

And there it was again.

That same indescribable force between them. 

Pulling her in. 

Without even trying, he’s found a way into her inner sanctum, her indifference, and he’s chasing after her heart’s verity like some new convert to the god they serve.

Before he can process what’s happening, she’s already touching him. 

Her fingers scratching over the short hairs of his beard, watching as his mouth slightly parts in awe of the moment.

Suddenly her chambers feel confined. 

Warmer.

Electric.

Jorah never expected her to close the distance.

To actually see the forbidden thought through to its fruition.

She would touch him as though she had in the past, then leave him plagued by the memory of her affection for weeks to come.

But when her lips press into his, it feels incredible. 

Feels a lot like – _finally._

Granted, it was one of the least most provocative kisses he had ever experienced – short, chaste, a gentle brush of warm lips. 

Sadly, it’s over before the shock wears off and he’s able to kiss her back. 

“I just needed to know.” She whispers.

As if that simple answer is supposed to unravel the mystery that just transpired between them. 

The look in her eyes. 

The small, sheepish curve of her lips.

The blush clearly found in her cheeks. 

“If I asked you to stay the night…would you?” 

Jorah blinks, lightly worrying his bottom lip.

Daenerys’ eyes are instantly drawn to the action. 

“I’m afraid the wine may have –”

Before he could even finish, her lips were on his for a second time.

Hard and more demanding than the previous one. 

She cups his face in her hands, the lure that finally awakens his lips to her seduction. 

With the lightest sweep of her tongue against his lips, his mouth opens for her and when his tongue slips inside, she whimpers. 

And she’s being introduced to a new discovery.

They say that dragons are fire made flesh, but Jorah Mormont’s kisses are flesh made fire.

It doesn’t take long before his Queen is needing more. 

Her hands desperately move to his tunic, grabbing handfuls of the black cloth and pulling him along with her as she lies back upon the couch. Jorah follows, his mouth moving over hers with a bruising intensity. 

She sighs her disapproval when he breaks the kiss, only to moan when his lips make sweet contact with her neck, slowly working their way down to her collarbone, her fingers twisting in his hair.

When he kisses his way back up, the tip of his tongue begins drawing light circles just below her ear, as he stops to blow on her wet skin, while she squirms in his arms. 

It's a mistake and he knows he should stop.

Shouldn't let his hand creep up her thigh, shouldn’t entwine his fingers through her hair, or tease her by backing away every time her hips lunge forward for a deeper connection. 

He can see what it does to her.

How her eyes seem to grow darker when she pushes her hips into him, seeking friction she won’t find. 

Until his lips claim hers in a kiss so demanding that it’s almost like he’s trying to start a fight. He takes mercy on her and pushes himself into her hard, giving her the contact her body is craving. 

And it’s _so good._

Yet, so damn frustrating because she really needs him naked. 

And inside her. 

Like, _now._

She’s had her fill of all these barriers.

“Bed,” Daenerys manages in between heated kisses. 

Jorah hums his response, but it doesn’t fully register with him. 

So, she tries again, but this time with more… _persuasion_.

Her lips find the shell of his ear, where she gently sucks his earlobe in, then lightly bites it, soothing the transgression with her tongue as she whispers. 

“Take me to bed.” 

His Queen manages to wrap her mouth around the words, even though her body is being reduced to the places where Jorah is touching her.

Her Knight instantly freezes, and she almost regrets the interruption. But it was a necessary evil, one that clears every obstacle from their path. If they go through with this, there will be no going back. 

They will both forever be marked and branded by the other. 

Regrets cannot exist in this moment. 

Jorah slowly turns his eyes on her and refrains from looking predictably smug, unlike another sellsword she knows, whom would have given into the need to feed his ego.

His Khaleesi looks well and truly kissed, lips swollen and red, hair mussed, a flush spreading over her soft features. 

He doesn’t speak any words.

Words have been long outdated with them. 

They speak through eyes alone.

Jorah slowly stands, then with an outstretched hand, he helps his Khaleesi to her feet, where she walks them hand in hand toward the bed. 

When she stops just short of it, she turns, fixing him with one of the most seductive looks he has ever seen. He watches as she reaches out with both hands, gliding up his chest, mapping out the muscles hidden beneath, before stopping at the strings of his tunic. 

Gently, her fingers begin working them loose, until it gives way to her effort.

Her eyes move to his chest, then to his shoulders, her hands following the same path, as his tunic drops to the floor. 

Immediately forgotten. 

“Stay.” She commands. 

And he does as she bids. 

Remaining completely motionless. 

Afraid that if he moves, he’ll wake up from this dream and she’ll vanish into the night, like smoke carried off by the wind. 

Daenerys takes a step back from him, he watches as one hand moves to the strap of her nightgown, gracefully sliding it down, her eyes pinned to his, as she removes the other just as carefully. 

She holds the material to her chest just briefly, then with an arch of her brow and a slight turn of her lip, she releases it completely. 

The sheen material falling, as gently and as gracefully as snow on a crisp, winter morning. 

Jorah makes a long, measured perusal of her naked body. 

And he can see it. 

See it in her eyes. 

How turned on it makes her. 

How much she enjoys the way he looks at her. 

Like she is the air to his lungs, the beat to his heart – like she is everything that is essential for his very survival.

This man sees her. 

_Really_ sees her. 

Not the Queen, but the woman. 

The revelation makes her all the more eager to have him. 

_All night._

And several times after. 

“Make love to me, Ser Jorah.” 

It was a turning point, a defining crux in time, one of those rare moments where you just know that if you let this moment slip by, it will haunt you for the rest of your life. And so, after years of being passed over, he seized it…with both hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little gift to my amazing readers! 
> 
> Another chapter. Yays! 
> 
> It’s a little early, but I’m pretty sure you guys don't mind. 
> 
> And yes, the next chapter will be very, very explicit. This story will remain true to its rating. I’m not exactly sure when Chapter eight will be posted. I’m hoping by next week some time. 
> 
> I still kind of need to write it. lol.
> 
> But I promise to work on it as soon as I can. I will try not to leave you guys hanging too long.


	8. Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, what's the best summary for this chapter....
> 
> Daenerys basically discovers that Jorah is a sex god. 
> 
> Yep, that pretty much sums it up! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fair warning on this chapter. 
> 
> It is very, very explicit. 
> 
> Pretty much nineteen pages of Jorah and Daenerys doing the nasty. lol. 
> 
> This is literally the longest chapter thus far, not to mention the longest sex scene I have ever written. You're welcome. 
> 
> You'll notice some new tags have been added because the dirty level of this story just multiplied by x1000. 
> 
> Told ya'll we was going straight to the gutter and its gonna be a long visit there too. So get comfortable because it's a long read. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

_“Make love to me, Ser Jorah.”_

This is dangerous territory.

There’s no being idealistic about this, if he makes love to Daenerys, she’ll know _everything._

His heart will be laid out before her – bare and translucent. 

She knows he loves her. 

She even knows he’s in love with her. 

But he’s certain she doesn’t know the infinite depth of that love. 

How deep its roots have intrinsically dug down into his heart, refusing to be uprooted.

When he pushes inside of her, she’ll know that her occupation in his mind doesn’t just move in sporadic intervals. 

That’s she’s not just another royal to serve, she’s his _Khaleesi,_ she’ll always be _Khaleesi,_ no matter how many titles she claims. 

She could never be just another beautiful woman passing by his line of vision, she just _is_ – apart from her, nothing else exists.

“Jorah?” Daenerys said, her voice deeply laced with concern.

It was the vulnerability he heard that ceased his current thoughts. 

And the expression on her face, anxious and faltering, that drove him into action.

Her eyes lifted in surprise as he closed the distance, pausing, slowly reaching out to caress her cheek, entranced by the way his touch compelled her to close her eyes, as if branding his imprint into memory. 

With the right words, he would be graced with that sparkle in her eyes, a light that always seemed to put the lucence of every star he had ever beheld to shame. 

“We shouldn’t.” 

Daenerys closes her eyes tighter and he sees the sadness in her expression, the disappointment. 

He can feel it emanating off of her in waves. 

Until he whispers, “But I can never deny you anything.” 

Slowly, her eyes open and it’s just as he suspected, the heavens above could never compete.

She watches as his lips meet hers, kissing her so carefully, and with such intent that she gets lost in it. 

Before her mind is able to catch up and process the moment, he’s already skillfully maneuvered her down to the bed, one knee bent between her thighs, both palms planted firmly into the mattress, his body hovering above her.

He’s barely aware of her hand sliding down his torso, stopping at the laces of his breeches, her fingers gripping the waistband and pulling him down to her in an unspoken demand for more friction, both moaning from the contact.

Gods, he was _so_ hard. 

Daenerys can’t resist the need to grind into him, to rub herself against the length of him, his black slacks leaving nothing to her imagination, causing the need in the pit of her stomach to grow. 

Her name comes out in a low, graveled whisper, and his lips brush against her cheek, at the corner of her mouth, his nose sliding against hers.

“Off.” She breathes, tugging at his breeches. 

Jorah ignores her request and kisses her open mouthed, hard and hungry, pressing her down into the mattress with a reckless abandon that she can’t help but marvel at.

She’s always imagined him to be a passionate man.

Romantic to a fault.

Selfless in all areas.

And right now, his lips and hands are proving every notion she’s ever dared to envision true.

She lets out a half moan, half laugh when she feels his lips press against her neck, sucking and biting, but it’s careful and teasing, a buildup for what’s to come.

Like he wants to take his time with her, afraid that the encounter may never repeat itself.

“Soon,” Jorah replies, his voice deeper, laced with arousal.

He slides his fingers down her neck, to her shoulder, and then lightly caresses the mound of her breast, teasing. 

When he finally lets his hand cup her breast and squeeze, she groans loudly, arching her chest into his palm, as his thumb circles her nipple. 

His tongue slowly licks around her nipple, before sucking it into his mouth. 

She watches as he releases it, lightly blowing upon the skin, before repeating the process. 

His eyes flick to hers and she can’t look away. 

He moves to her other breasts, giving it the same attention, while his hand begins to move lower to her stomach, fingers caressing the skin just below her naval. 

Daenerys lets out a low pitch whine, her hips bucking in protest, when he moves his body off to the side, settling in beside her so he can touch her more freely. 

But she sighs in content when his lips begin kissing up her jaw, to the shell of her ear. 

His hand journeys lower, fingertips lightly grazing her inner thighs.

And Jorah can’t stop the smile of satisfaction that forms, when her legs open wider for him. 

A silent invitation that’s purely driven by the anticipation of what’s to come. 

Clearly, a sign that she trusts he’s more than capable of giving her body exactly what she needs. 

And more. 

Her lips part, her breathing labored, when his fingers slide back up to the spot just below her stomach.

“Please,” His Queen begs. 

Jorah dips his head into the crook of her neck, and plants kisses along her shoulder, working his way up as she sighs, her body scooting up the bed, in a vain attempt to get his hand where she needs it the most. 

But his other arm tightens around her waist, holding her in place, as his lips take her nipple in his mouth again, sucking hard, lightly biting the tip, before smoothing the sting with his tongue.

She sucks in air, audible and sharp, her body shaking from excitement. 

And for a moment, he fears that she may already be coming. 

Far too soon for him. 

He was nowhere near done with teasing her. 

With driving her to the edge, only to pull her back over and over again. 

He licks the crook of her neck, making tight circles all the way up to her ear. 

Then breathes a promise, “Going to make you feel so good.”

And she believes him. 

By the gods, she believes every line of that promise. 

The quiet confidence he always possessed only seems to intensify in the bedroom. Giving credence to his design, that he’s going to fuck her like she’s never been fucked. 

To adore her body in ways, it has never been adored. 

The softness of his lips, his hot breath against her cool skin makes her shudder, and she lets out an embarrassingly loud moan, arching towards him, her body almost instinctually begging for more of what he’s offering. 

“Gods, Jorah” She pleads, _“Please.”_

His finger lightly traces down her jaw, to her chin, turning her lips to his, as he captures them in a kiss that steals the breath from her lungs. 

Their tongues exploring every inch of their mouths, as his hand begins moving south, his finger tracing around her naval before going lower.

_“Fuck, Jorah!”_ she says tensing, her body in sensory overload as he pushes a finger inside her.

“Ssshh.” He softly warns, his lips back to her ear, biting. “They’ll hear you.” 

Right now, she really didn’t give a damn what the guards or her advisors heard.

Or what Varys’ little birds whispered to his waiting ears. 

The only thing her brain was even remotely capable of processing was how her bear was so expertly working her, one finger slowly moving in and out of her wetness with ease, his thumb circling over her clit with direct precision and just the right amount of pressure.

Jorah watched as her hands blindly grasp for the sheets of the bed, twisting them up into her hands, as he adds another finger inside her, curling both until the colorful expletive that escapes under her breath tells him he’s found just the right spot.

He takes his time at first.

Slowly pushing in and out of her. 

Building her release with each stroke of his hand.

Taking her closer.

And closer to the edge. 

Her body arches off the bed, her breathing begins to quicken, as her hips begin working overtime into his thrusts. 

And her expression is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen – tense and abandoned. 

Her forehead furrowed in a mixture of pain and pleasure, along with the frustrated growl that escapes the back of her throat because he refuses to meet the fury in her pace. 

Still content in keeping her release at bay. 

Until his Queen’s pleas become repetitious.

Desperate. 

“Please, Jorah.” She breathes, “Please.” Her hips arch off the bed and down into his hand, seeking more friction, seeking the relief only he can deliver. _“Oh fuck, please. I need…”_ Her voice trails off, lost in the emotions he’s reducing her too. 

Jorah leans in, his forehead resting against her cheek. 

His voice as controlled as the movements of his hand. 

“Say it.” He whispers. “Say what you need, love?” 

She didn’t even register the endearment. Her mind too far gone in a sex induced haze. 

Her hips jerk down, still seeking more. 

“I need…” she gasped. “I want to…” she pauses, unable to form a coherent sentence. _“Sooo badly.”_

But Jorah was a fast learner. 

He already knew the language of her body well, pronouncing each word perfectly.

And he had every intention of fulfilling those desires tonight.

Direct and hard. 

Daenerys moaned loud, when the heel of his palm pressed down into her clit, his fingers pumping into her hard, matching every erratic push of her hips.

And when she lifted her lower body off the bed, unabashedly fucking his hand mid-air, he knew she was close. 

He could feel her muscles tightening, clenching around his fingers to the point that it was almost impossible for him to keep moving as deep as he was, until her body jerked and stilled completely. 

The force of her orgasm causing her to scream out her Knight’s name, as he continued slowly pushing in and out of her, prolonging the pleasure that traveled through her body like tiny aftershocks. 

Carefully, he brings her down from her heightened state, whimpering in protest when his fingers slide out altogether. 

Only to have her hand grasp the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to hers, kissing him with tongue and teeth, as if she was looking for a confrontation. 

Like a dare for more.

Or a thank you for what he’s already given. 

His Queen kisses him so hard, that he can’t help but to be shocked. 

Shocked by how desperate and needy it is. 

Or by how she seems so pliable. 

So compliant.

Submissive and willing.

He could ask anything of her in this moment and she would surrender to his every request. 

She kisses him like the world is ending, like she could never get her fill of him and he feels himself beginning to lose control.

Feels the urge rising and rising in the pit of his stomach, to just take her and fuck her like he so desperately wants to do. 

But he resists. 

Tonight, is about her. 

Everything he does is about her. 

His whole life revolves around her.

Apart from her, his life has no meaning.

Daenerys’ brows dramatically crease together when he pulls back from their kiss, stares into her eyes and smirks, before creating a blazing trail down to the crook of her neck, to her shoulders, pausing to swirl his tongue around each nipple, before kissing his way down the valley of her breasts, to the spot just below her naval. 

He stops, and his eyes glance to hers, noting how she’s already staring, transfixed by the possibility of what he’s about to do. 

The anticipation coils in her stomach, going lower and sending a rush of heat between her thighs as he moves off the bed and kneels before her, using his hands to pull her closer to him.

Of their own volition, her legs spread wider. 

And she can feel him mere inches from where she needs him the most. 

Feel his warm breath moving over her dampness, taking her in. 

She closes her eyes and moans. 

And she knows he sees it. 

Sees just how wet she is for him. 

How ready she is. 

“Khaleesi,” he speaks against her, the puff of heat making her toes curl. 

The reverent tone in which he speaks the endearment, tells her that this is something he’s put some thought into.

Like it’s all he’s ever imagined doing with his life – serving her on his knees.

She gives a desperate, low pitched noise as he slowly kisses the inside of her thigh, to her calf, then her ankle. 

Showing ample attention to her other leg, kissing and licking his way back up to her inner thigh, ready to worship at the altar of his Queen. 

Jorah places one leg over his shoulder, then the other, his primal attention stopping short of where His Queen so desperately needs his mouth 

Daenerys watches him hesitate for just a moment and sees him make eye contact again, holding her gaze, as he licks a slow, soft strip all the way up to her clit.

The act is so provocative that she almost comes from watching him.

Especially, when he pushes hard between her legs, open mouthed and desperate and begins to work his tongue against her, in quick firm flicks that make heat drip down her legs.

She’s never had a man do this to her. 

_Never._

But she can’t imagine any other man but Jorah, introducing her to it. 

Daenerys’s eyes roll back as he slides his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes over her clit, feeling her thighs shake around him. 

He uses his thumb to pull the hood of her clit back, as his mouth sucks the bud in, his tongue skillfully flicking across it over and over again. 

The sensations become too much for her and she begins trying to scoot her hips away from him, further up the bed, but Jorah merely wraps his arms around her legs and pulls her back down to his mouth. 

She moans loudly, too loud, when he pushes his tongue deep inside of her, legs closing around him as she starts to move with him, her head tilting back between her shoulders.

His tongue slowly begins moving in and out, fucking her as deep as he can, while his thumb presses hard into her clit, adding more tension.

Daenerys’ breath quickens and her hips begin working in a desperate rhythm with his tongue.

She sighs, her hand reaching down to run her fingers through his hair, grasping and pulling.

Jorah hums against her in agreement, making her shiver again, running her nails along his scalp.

She’s close. 

So close now. 

And he wants to be right there when she goes over the edge, so he draws a teasing flick over her clit and pulls back, pressing his tongue inside of her again, while she looks at him desperately, drawing him against her with her thighs, needing him deeper. 

So, he obliges, thrusting his tongue deeper. 

Fucking her with his mouth, just like her eyes commanded. 

Her legs begin to stiffen and shake uncontrollably, while her mouth parts, his name falling like a prayer from her lips. 

Jorah has her on the edge again and he knows it. 

He presses his palm down low on her belly and circles his thumb over her clit again until she’s blindly grabbing for him, shuddering underneath his mouth, while his tongue gently fucks her through another orgasm. 

His Queen frantically draws him up into her arms, both hands holding his face to her, as she kisses him deeply, paying no mind to the taste of herself on his lips. 

She can feel how hard he is, and she wants nothing more than to give him what he’s just given her. 

Carefully, one hand travels down his back, around his waist to his stomach, her fingers pulling at the laces to his breeches, with one quick motion, they loosen and give way as her hand moves underneath the fabric to grasp his cock, hard and hot in her hand. 

Jorah takes in a sharp breath, _“Fuck, Khaleesi.”_

She’s never heard him curse before.

And she can’t help the coy smile that’s forming on her lips, while her hand slowly strokes the length of him, taking some semblance of control back from her Knight.

He leans his forehead against hers, eyes closed tight, as her nails lightly scrape from the base of his cock to the tip. 

“That’s the plan, Jorah.” She says seductively.

And his eyes shoot open, searching hers, lips parting in anticipation. 

“We don’t –” He stammers, squeezing his eyes shut, as her hand begins to stroke him faster. 

“We don’t, _what?”_ His Queen teases.

Releasing his cock, Daenerys starts frantically tugging his breeches over his hips and down his legs, freeing his erection completely. 

“Hmm?” She coaxes him, grabbing his cock again and stroking. “We don’t have to fuck?” 

He nods his assent, her hand’s ministrations robbing him of words.

And he almost comes, when Daenerys bucks her hips up into him, her hand sliding his cock through her folds, wet and waiting, as Jorah lets out an embarrassingly, loud groan.

“But I want you to fuck me.” She turns her face towards his, sucking his earlobe into her mouth, her tongue circling around it, then releasing it just as quickly. _“Deep”_ She whispers. _“…and hard.”_

Jorah growls in the back of his throat, his hand stopping her mid stroke, and pulling away to make quick work of his boots and breeches. 

Finally, free from all constraints, he dips his head between her legs one more time, his tongue licking a smooth line to her clit, then sucking the bud into his mouth, his tongue flicking across its surface. 

Daenerys gasps, her hips bucking into his mouth, needing penetration. 

His lips kiss their way up to her stomach, to the dip of her hip, to the indention between each rib, to her breasts, where he pauses again, spending extra time there, kissing and sucking, as her hips desperately begin seeking his cock, pushing down into him. 

_“Please.”_

She’s begging again. 

That’s what he’s reduced her too – the beggar Queen.

His lips move to her neck, languidly kissing and biting. 

It tickles. 

And she would laugh if he wasn’t driving her so insane at the moment. 

_“Fuck, Jorah.”_ She complains, “I need.” 

His lips are working up her jaw now. 

“Yes, love?”

And she can feel the tip of his cock at her entrance, but he moves to the side when she pushes down, needing more. 

_“Inside me.”_ She turns her face, looking him straight in the eye. _“Now.”_

His eyes search hers for any doubt. 

Finding none, he pushes inside her with one fluid motion of his hips, both sighing in satisfaction. 

Slowly, he begins moving in and out of her. 

And in one unexpected motion, his hands grasp her bottom, easily lifting her as he carries them further up the bed, to rest her head upon the pillows. 

All without slipping out of her. 

If he’s going to fuck her, he’s going to do it right. 

She watches him as he pulls out of her slowly, then pushes back in.

Over and over. 

Daenerys’ fingernails lightly scratch up and down his back, as he continues thrusting up into her, hands carefully moving to the nape of his neck, fingers lacing through his hair, pulling his lips to hers in a slow, languid kiss. 

Gradually, their kisses become more frantic, wet and desperate, as Jorah brings her leg up to wrap over his hip, changing the angle completely. 

He begins to move faster.

Deeper. 

Harder. 

Just as she commanded. 

And soon he’s fucking her in a way that she’s longed to be fucked. 

With desperate abandon.

Long and proper. 

All night, if need be. 

And its so fucking good that she doesn’t want him to stop. 

She’s even begging him not too. 

Even though he’s pushing so hard into her that the oversized four poster bed begins to creak and groan under Jorah’s firm thrusts. 

Both of them to lost in the moment to even notice or care. 

Their kiss is long broken, and her moans are coming out in short pants, as Jorah moves his hands behind her knees, pushing her legs further open and up, the leverage only adding to their pleasure and sending her Knight much deeper. 

His Queen practically screams out in pleasure, her brows furrowed in deep concentration, biting her bottom lip, her mind and body focusing on how good she’s being fucked. 

Her fingers move to his sides, her nails digging into the skin, as he continues thrusting up into her. 

Hard and frantic. 

Deep and direct. 

And he can feel her muscles tightening against his cock. 

She watches as he releases one leg, his fingers moving to her clit, stroking and applying the pressure she needs. 

His thrusts become more erratic and Daenerys knows that Jorah is close too. 

Knows by the reverential way he says her name, like it means something different each time he pushes inside her.

Until she comes so hard that her toes curl and her eyes literally roll in the back of her head. 

With a few more thrusts and a guttural growl from the back of his throat, Jorah is soon following. 

His hips sporadically pumping, as he empties himself deep inside her. 

They both take their time recovering and he’s idly aware of how Daenerys is still slowly riding his half-spent cock. 

If she keeps that up, they’ll end up going a second round. 

So, he gives her a warning look. 

One that tells her to tread carefully. 

But his Queen’s only answer is an arched brow and a slight curve of her lip. 

Challenge accepted. 

She maneuvers her hand between them, to where they are still joined. 

And continues moving her hips up and down, her fingernails dragging along the length of him, all the way to his balls, massaging, fully intent on making him hard again. 

It doesn’t take her long. 

Or much effort at that. 

Before she can feel him swelling inside her again. 

His lips move to her breast and she lets out a sharp intake, as he draws a nipple between his teeth and licks it over with his tongue. 

When he releases it, his eyes meet hers. 

Dark and hungry with arousal.

“Roll over.” He commands. 

When she pulls away, his cock slips out and he can see his come dripping from her. 

The sight only turns him on all the more. 

Making him more desperate to have her all over again. 

He watches as she turns over, raising up on all fours, ass high in the air. 

Waiting. 

Jorah moves between her legs, one hand grabbing her hip, as he positions himself, rubbing his cock against her slick folds with his other. 

She moans her contentment when he slips back inside her, all the way to the hilt. 

_Gods, this position was so good._

Daenerys could feel every part of his cock buried inside of her, pulsing. 

Slowly, he retreats, until he’s almost completely out of her, before pushing back into her just as carefully.

He’s taking his time. 

Building her release with one deliberate thrust at a time. 

And the measured pace he’s set is one of leisure. 

Unhurried. 

As if he plans on fucking her all night. 

Her eyes flick to the candle burning on the nightstand, its beeswax now less than half, noting that they were full and just freshly changed before Jorah arrived. 

Interesting. 

Clearly, they’ve been at it for some time now. 

Her bear obviously has more stamina than every man she’s ever laid with to date. 

And definitely as skilled of a lover as she had initially hoped. 

She closes her eyes as she feels his fingernails lightly caressing up and down her back, going in time with his cock’s measured thrusts.

The sensation it stirs within her skin only increases her pleasure, causing her to loudly moan his name in approval. 

Surely, any council would frown upon a Queen fucking her Knight so deliberately and giving no thought of recourse to the naysayers.

But with the way he’s fucking her, she no longer cares about the appropriateness of their coupling or the Dothraki soldiers standing guard outside her door.

Soon, his lips replace his fingers, nipping and kissing every indention, every curve, every line he’s able to seek out on her back. 

Daenerys lets out a sharp groan, when Jorah’s hands move around to cup her breasts, lightly squeezing. 

He dips his head into the curve of her neck, kissing and sucking, as he continues to thrust into her with long, thorough strokes. 

Jorah’s arms wrap around her waist and with a gentle nudge, he sits up onto his knees and she follows, her back flat up against his chest. 

He begins to pick up the pace a little. 

Her head falls back to his shoulder and she wraps her arm around his neck, eyes searching his, as his mouth claims hers in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. 

One hand follows up the valley of her breasts, fingers digging into her shoulder, locking her in place, as his other hand moves lower.

With a gentle roll over her clit, he begins rubbing it in rhythm with each stroke of his cock. 

A sharp gasp escapes Daenerys lips. 

_“Hmm, feels so good.”_

_“Khaleesi.”_ Jorah groans, his hips pushing harder into her now. 

She begins pushing back into him, matching her Knight thrust for thrust. 

And she’s almost there. 

So close now. 

She can feel the tightening in her stomach. 

The coiling between her legs.

And it’s even better when he changes the angle, moving his hips down a little, so he can thrust up deeper into her. 

_“Fuck, Jorah.”_ She cries, _“Right there.”_

And she can see the irony in it. 

She’s a Queen. 

She demands the best. 

But never has she ever been fucked quite like this by anyone. 

Not with this much passion. 

With this much devotion, driven by years of longing.

Jorah’s hitting just the right spot inside her, making her toes curl from just the thought of how hard he’s about to make her come. 

_“Don’t stop.”_ His Queen pleads, _“Please, Gods…don’t.”_ Another hard thrust. _“Going to...”_

Jorah knows exactly what’s she about to do and he has every intention of not letting up until she does. 

He’s pushing her hard, driving her over the edge for the fourth time that night. 

When her body finally tenses around him, when her legs start shaking and her pleas become silent because of the tension in her throat, he picks up his speed, coaxes her through the orgasm and towards another that was so unexpected, she nearly passes out from the force of it. 

_"Jorah,"_ Daenerys calls out. _"Gods."_

Her hips move forward, and he moves with them, not letting up until he feels her body completely collapse back into his chest with a loud moan. 

He gently lays her back down to the bed, then pulls out, still hard. 

She immediately notices, her eyes lazily gazing at him. 

“You didn’t…”

His Queen leaves the question unfinished, clearly disappointed that she wasn’t able to give him the kind of pleasure he had just given her. 

Jorah shakes his head, kissing her forehead, lips trailing to her temple, then her cheek.

“Tonight, isn’t about me.”

“But still, I want you too.” 

He laid back against the pillows, facing her, eyes searching hers, as a finger softly runs down the line of her jaw. 

“Jorah?” she whispers, once she’s breathing semi-normally again. 

He arches a brow in response, as she leans in to kiss him, soft and slow. 

Then crawls up on top of him, Jorah’s hands help hurry her up onto his body, kissing her neck and breasts, before she settles over him.

Her eyes pierce his, as her hand grips his cock, positioning herself over it, then easing down slowly. 

“I want to make you come.” She says, her intonation direct and to the point.

When she begins to rock her hips over him, Jorah’s head falls back into the pillows. 

She moves slowly, enjoying the expression on his face every time she rotates her hips, especially the effect it has on him. 

How he slides his hands up her body, his jaw dropped open in something that looks like awe.

He watches her, watches how her hips seductively undulate over him, moving his cock in and out with just the right rhythm.

And when Daenerys shifts her hips, finding the perfect angle, she begins working him with a quiet sense of urgency – but she’s so _purposeful,_ so diligent in every motion. 

His Queen smirks when his hands grasp her hips, fingers digging into the skin, as he begins silently urging her to move faster.

Deeper. 

_“That’s it, Jorah.”_ She encourages, _“Come for me.”_

She leans back, her hands grasping his thighs for leverage, but also giving him a better view of his cock slipping in and out of her. 

Jorah almost loses control right then and there. 

Watching her above him is hypnotic, ivory skin and silver hair trailing down her back and breasts bouncing in time with her movements. 

He can’t stop watching how she rides him, rolling her hips in a motion that takes him deep. 

And when his fingers begin to dig into her hips, she knows he’s close. 

Knows by the way his mouth slightly parts, the way his eyes close tight, concentrating, the way his head pushes back into the pillow, lost to the feeling her body is stirring within him. 

He just needs a little extra push. 

And before his brain can process what she’s doing, Jorah feels her teeth on his shoulder, where she bites down hard, hard enough to leave a mark. 

Then her lips trail to his ear, nipping and sucking gently, as if apologizing for the love mark. 

He groans when her tongue flicks out, licking the spot just below his ear and whispers.

“I want you to come inside me, Jorah.” 

His hands grip her hips, tightly holding her down to him, as he thrusts up into her, frantic and abandoned. 

And Daenerys can’t stop the smug smile from touching her lips, as he comes, hard and loud. 

“Khaleesi.” He growls. _“Fuck!”_

And the sight of him coming, the look of ecstasy on his face, the bliss she sees moving across his features, only sends her over the edge again. 

She cries out some incoherent word that sounds something like his name, her body convulsing and shaking, as she falls forward onto his chest, breathing heavily into his neck.

When her breathing goes back to normal, she finally finds the strength to roll off of him, snuggling close to his side. 

Daenerys looks up at him, but he’s already intently watching her, a gentle smile on his lips. 

“That was,” she begins, searching for the right word. “…unexpected.” 

Jorah snorts a laugh. 

Something that she decides she wants to hear more of. 

“I just wanted to show you what it could be like.” 

Her brows creased in earnest, understanding. 

Clearly, he was still unsure of what tonight was all about, whether she would want to continue this new side to their relationship or not. 

Either way, he was graciously supplying her with a way out, if she decided to take it.

Selfless till the end. 

When she didn’t answer, his face grew more serious, more somber. 

She watched as Jorah leaned forward, kissing her forehead lightly. 

“I should probably go.”

And it’s amazing how he tries to hide the disappointment he’s really feeling, how he tries to push it down, not wanting to burden her further. 

But his face always betrays him, telling every story his heart is so proficiently narrating. 

Somehow, they’ve missed each other in their lines of communication, while he’s ready to bolt, she’s just now catching up.

Jorah moves to get up, but a small, firm hand stops him. 

“Stay.” His Queen commands. “It’s still dark out and I have no desire to be alone.” 

Slowly, his eyes turn to hers. 

And she can see the hope she just planted visibly burning in their depths, but still, he continues being the faithful advisor. 

“I’m not sure that’s wise, Khaleesi. It will be light soon and I don’t trust Varys’ little bir –.” 

“Jorah,” She interrupts, running a finger down his jawline. “Don’t rationalize – just stay with me… It’s that simple.”

And when she kisses him softly on the lips, every attempt to justify his claims fade into the night. 

Especially when she pulls him back down to her, molding herself perfectly into his embrace, her head resting on his shoulder, while draping one leg possessively over his. 

“Tonight, is about us, remember?” Daenerys reminded. “Let’s not waste it by worrying over tomorrow.” 

Jorah pulled her tighter to him, placing a kiss to her temple. 

“Sleep now, Khaleesi.”

And so, she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the new chapter and that it meets your approval. Lord knows I spent long enough working on it . I'm not going to lie, this one took a good while to write, but I was able to get it finished completely last night. Then again, I always have to clean up my chapters before I publish them because I’m anal about having errors of any kind. Also, it has to flow as well, so I’m constantly fixing my chapters, until I find that they meet my approval. This one was straight up on the dirty side.
> 
> Of course, all of you had fair warning ahead of time. There are some other chapters that will be explicit as well. Not as explicit as this one, but they will be close nonetheless. Like I said previously, this story will definitely stay true to its rating. As will the sequel. 
> 
> I’m not sure when the next chapter will be up. It’s one of the few that’s not written either. Chapters ten and twelve are complete and waiting to be posted. But there are some that I still need to write, to piece the story together. 
> 
> And to all of my reviewers, all of you are so awesome – I have the best readers ever! It’s really humbling to know that you guys really think a lot of this story, especially because they are so many good Jorleesi authors out there posting amazing stories. It warms my heart to know that are little fandom is growing in numbers. So thank you for reading and for commenting. And if you haven't left a review yet, please do. Just to let me know you guys are enjoying it. I love hearing from new reviewers. It lets me know the story is getting out there. Love ya guys!


	9. No Matter The Cost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once alone, things don't go quite as Jorah had hoped.

Daenerys drifts awake in her bed, stretching under the sheets and unable to hold back a smile at the pleasant ache between her legs, at the way her thighs burn from the workout Jorah had put her body through just hours earlier. 

Of how he would drive her to the edge with his hand, only to pull her back. The way they both surrendered to their passions, both taking extreme pleasure in the other. His ability to make her body feel things she’s never felt and probably never will again unless provided by his hand. 

And that makes her think about his tongue, firm and insistent, about the way he dropped to his knees and with formidable patience, he tasted her, eating her out with such a primal dedication, like it was all he wanted to do with his life.

_No one._

Literally no one, has ever worked that hard for her before, as though the whole point of sex was just to make her feel good, and even just the memory of their encounter was... _overwhelming._

Intense.

Rendering her thoughts with the inability to process anything that doesn’t revolve around last night…or him. 

Daenerys stretches again, blinking from the bright rays of sunlight filtering through the doors of her balcony.

She knows Jorah has already left her chambers. She vaguely remembers him kissing her forehead, softly informing her that he had to leave before the dawn and carefully slipping from her embrace. 

Only to lovingly pull the blankets more fully over her, placing a gentle kiss to her cheek before leaving altogether. 

And she misses his presence already. 

But she’s in no hurry to see him. 

Truth be told, she doesn’t know what this change in their relationship will bring about. How she’ll react when she sees him. Or when she has time to process the whole encounter and what it means, will she even want to continue this new side to their relationship? 

Will she be embarrassed or relieved that they finally let their guards down? 

The moment was…exciting to say the least. 

Abandoned and feverish in its awakening, with a hint of sordid implications surrounding the whole affair. 

Targaryen’s are not supposed to entertain the affections of those considered to be beneath them. 

That’s the first argument her counsel will deliver. 

She could hear Tyrion’s logic now – _He’s an exiled Knight, not worthy of a Queen._

Of course, she could argue that she was an exiled princess from the same country. Brought just as low as he was. And together, they both overcame those odds. 

But it would all be for naught. They would never relent, therefore if the affair continued, it would forever be shrouded in the shadow of secrecy.

Giving birth to a perpetual war within her circle that could never be won.

One that both would eventually grow weary of fighting, ultimately resenting the other for the battle. 

Then again, she couldn’t really imagine Jorah resenting her for anything. 

Let alone for having to endure the conflict of securing her. 

It seems like he’s been fighting for her since the day they met. Only to suffer in silence because of her blatant inability to return the sentiment and his fear of pushing the issue past her comfort zone.

If she’s ever learned anything, it’s that nothing is ever written in stone. 

Nothing is promised. 

But she would be willing to bank on Jorah’s love always being a constant in her life, no matter the onslaught of friction between those that opposed it. 

Unfortunately, the consistency of his love wasn’t the question pressing in her mind…or upon the very borders of her heart. 

What she needed to know went much deeper than the destiny she had been called to fulfill and far beyond the identity of the man who would rule by her side. 

Could she even match Jorah’s love? 

Clearly, the seed had been planted long ago, somewhere in the Dothraki Sea and he’s been secretly cultivating it ever since. 

Encouraging it grow. 

And in all the years she had spent resisting him, she had convinced herself that the fortress around her heart was thick enough to withstand his fervor. 

But it seems she had been greatly unmatched against her Knight’s ardency. 

And in his dogged determination, he had somehow penetrated her walls and now she can vaguely feel the unfurling of petals blossoming within its foundation. 

Which is another complication she doesn’t have time to address. 

At least not now, with the urgent knocking taking place behind her door. 

She already knows who it is. 

And what they want. 

She’s due to be in the audience chamber and no doubt Tyrion has sent Missandei to locate her. 

“Come in.” Daenerys calls out. 

And just as she suspected, Missandel enters. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” She says, “But your presence is needed –” 

Missandei’s eyes meet hers, then pauses midsentence, taking in the disheveled state of her Queen. 

The gown haphazardly discarded on the floor, obviously forgotten due to more… _pressing matters._

Her silver hair in complete disarray, the sheet barely covering her naked breasts, the glow that alighted her face, almost putting the sun to shame. 

She could only be likened to a woman who had been introduced to love over and over again.

“Did you dream, Your Grace?”

Daenerys almost laughed out loud but found herself blushing instead, with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

Which made Missandei all the more curious. The arched brow giving the unspoken inquiry away. 

She’s certain Daario isn’t to blame for this. 

Especially since the Queen informed her of their dissolution a month ago. 

Then she sees it. 

The realization dawning in her friend’s eyes, sees the culprit’s name coming to the forefront of her mind as clear as day. 

_Jorah._

And Dany has to give her credit. It only took her mere seconds to figure out her accomplice. 

Which only caused her to wonder – did Missandei understand her heart better than she?

If she did, she never said. 

Choosing not to voice her concerns or question the sensibility behind her Queen’s rash decision. 

It was as if she had already known why. 

Something that Daenerys made a mental note to inquire about later on.

Unfortunately, the night was far over. 

It was time to face the division of a failing city and try to bring some semblance of order and peace within its borders. 

The breach taking place within her heart would have to wait. 

For now.

**-x-x-x-**

She was slightly relieved to discover that he wasn’t in the audience chamber occupying his normal place, just to the right of her ebony bench. 

Although it did annoy her to see Daario in his place, standing proudly and just as arrogant as ever. 

Lacking the air of modesty and humbleness that always seemed to accompany Ser Jorah’s presence. 

It was a daunting day. 

Listening to one issue after another. The disputes of farmers, slaves and great masters were almost endless. 

Between Drogon burning more livestock, the slave’s wanting their freedom immediately and the great master’s desires to enslave them indefinitely, completely disregarding the seven-year phasing out process in their signed treaty, she couldn’t help but to find herself almost at her wits end. 

She immediately placed an end to the hearings, claiming fatigue. 

Which had surpassed the truth. 

She was beyond tired. 

Wanting nothing more than to return to her chambers and crawl into bed, forgetting the day and all its problems. 

But her advisors demanded an urgent council meeting.

Leaving her desire to rest far from her grasp. 

By the time she began her journey to the council room, her thoughts of the night she had shared with Ser Jorah had been eclipsed by his absence from the audience chamber, as well as the cloud of ongoing issues that seemed to plague her mind. 

It wasn’t until she entered the room, her eyes instantly finding his, that flashes of the night they shared replayed through her mind. 

She knows that look. 

The way his eyes instantly soften whenever they see her.

The silent byplays they could send each other without a single, spoken word could cause time to lay down and be still. 

A phenomenon all of its own. 

Forget the Red Priestess’ and their Lord of Light. They had created their own magic. 

And she would be lying, if she didn’t admit, that she feared it more than the nightmares that only recently began to rob her of sleep.

Dreams that seemed to predict loss and destruction. 

And dreams that ceased to be whenever he was by her side. 

Which is why she had begun calling for him late at night since his return. 

Hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

That the false front she put on whenever he arrived was enough to throw him off. 

Or at least give him reason not to question what he had begun to suspect. 

Either way, her dependency on him had led them to cross a line that can’t be uncrossed. 

But his demeanor didn’t falter, nor did hers. 

All pretenses were secured and in place, leading no one to question what they had previously shared. 

Well, no one except Missandei, who was desperately trying not to stare at the ambiguous scene playing out. 

Without a delay to her steps, she swiftly walked to her seat and sat down. 

Watching as Jorah exchanged an ominous look with Varys, and then Tyrion. 

She caught it instantly. 

The troubled expression they were all trying to downplay. 

“What is it?” She asked impatiently. 

“I’ve begun readying the Dothraki for a possible invasion.” Jorah explained, holding nothing back. 

Daenerys’ eyes widened. “An invasion from whom?” 

One look from Jorah told her all she needed to know. 

“I thought that matter had already been settled.” 

Her eyes accusingly shoot to Tyrion. 

“Note that Mormont said a _possible_ invasion.” The Lannister defended.

Only to draw another disapproving look from his Queen. 

“Your Grace,” Varys began. “I’m afraid my little birds have returned with troubling news.”

She gave Jorah a dubious look, whom only returned it with a soft, comforting smile. 

“It appears that a fleet of ships docked in Volantis are being fitted for battle.” 

“And you believe that they are preparing for battle against Meereen?” 

“Against you, Your Grace.” Varys corrected. 

“It’s Ser Jorah,” Daario begrudgingly said, leaving no qualms about his sudden distaste for the man. “…who believes you may be in danger.” 

“And you don’t?” Daenerys snapped, a little too harshly. 

“I think it would be unwise to assume the worst. Especially since they have given us no cause to believe that they intend to break the treaty. They’ve been silent for over a month. Why start a war now?” 

“Because it’s the perfect time.” Jorah argued. “Tell me of a better way for our enemy to gain the upper hand than by luring the dragon to sleep under false pretenses?” His eyes beseechingly sought Daenerys’. “They intend to attack, Your Grace. Why else would they be preparing an Armada?” 

“Perhaps they merely wish to enjoy the calm seas.” Tyrion added hopefully. 

Receiving a murderous look from Jorah and his Queen, while Varys embarrassingly hid his face within his palm, sighing.

The Queen turned her attention to Greyworm. “And what do you believe?” 

“I think it wise to be – _cautious_.” 

“You’ve begun preparing the Unsullied as well?” 

Greyworm nodded. “I think it best to be ready.” 

Her eyes sought Jorah one last time. 

An exchange that didn’t go unnoticed by Daario. 

“We will continue with the preparations, but let’s remain mindful of those that may be watching. We don’t want our enemies being informed of our suspicions.” 

She quickly stood, the others following her cue. 

“Leave me.” She commanded, as everyone began slowly filtering out. “Not you, Ser Jorah.” She added, ignoring the strange look from Daario, as her eyes darted to Missandei’s, catching the knowing smile on her lips, before she sheepishly ducks her head down, trying to hide what she had deduced earlier in her chambers.

They both waited until the room was clear. 

And she could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted nothing more than to hold her. 

But he didn’t dare. 

Not until he knew for sure if she wanted this. 

Wanted him. 

And he began to worry when she looked down, crossing her arms over her chest, as if hugging herself. 

“Must we speak of last night?” 

“Only if you wish.” 

She turned her back to him and walked slowly toward the balcony overlooking Slaver’s Bay, peering out into the ocean’s vastness. 

And it was moments like this that she hated. 

When regrets begin to creep in, and you ultimately have to face the repercussions of those decisions.

“I do not wish it.” She finally said. 

And the air in his lungs instantly ceased to flow. 

He swallowed hard and gave into the urge to cross the divide she was beginning to furrow between them. 

Slowly, his hand reached out to touch her bare shoulder, hoping the contact would ground her back to him. 

But she only stiffened in response, coldly slipping her shoulder from beneath his touch. 

“Khaleesi, please…” 

He didn’t finish whatever plea he so desperately wanted to express. 

“I think it would be best if we never –”

The end of her sentence hung in the air, but Jorah didn’t need her to finish. 

He already knew. 

Because he knew her. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” And she winced at the formality in his voice. “But have I done something to offend you?”

And that was the crux of their predicament. 

He did everything right. 

Too right. 

So right, that she couldn’t risk repeating it again. 

No, her heart couldn’t risk a repeat.

Too much was at stake. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“Then why are you doing this?” 

He was right to demand an answer. She couldn’t fault him in that. No matter how insubordinate it seemed to do so. 

Unfortunately, the answer he demanded, she couldn’t afford to divulge. 

And she hates how the distress, the urgency in his voice only magnifies her weakness, slowly pulling her eyes back to him. 

Jorah stares at her, searching, confounded. 

But she holds him stagnant with a challenging look of her own.

Neither refusing to back down. 

Then, she falters.

Her façade slips. 

And she quickly recovers, but not before Jorah sees the mishap. 

Easily reading between the lines. 

She watches as he stands a little taller, as if trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity. 

“I see,” He begins, “You’re afraid.” 

His Queen squares her shoulders back. “You mistake me, Ser. I am a dragon and dragons fear nothing.” 

“Aye.” He agrees. “Nothing, but love.” 

And Daenerys just stood there, immobilized, with eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Unable to dispute his claim or give credence to it. 

She knows. 

Knows that she was a fool not to see it. 

Not to think he wouldn’t guess. 

Or that he would even turn a blind eye to what he can so blatantly see spelled out behind those violet eyes of hers. 

_‘Your eyes have betrayed you, Daenerys. From the very first.’_

Daenerys watches as Jorah nods, dismissing himself from her presence. 

And perhaps her life altogether. 

She wants to call him back. 

Tell him she was mistaken. 

Tell him that she was being foolish, a coward. 

That it was a moment of weakness. 

But she couldn’t. 

She could never. 

Not as long as she intended to rule. 

Oddly enough, her very mother chose the same fate as she. Ser Barristan had told her as much, one night when he was entertaining her with his stories of serving her family and she had been bold enough to ask if her mother had ever loved another man.

_‘Yes. A simple Knight of low birth named Bonifer Hasty. She loved him a great deal and he loved her, more than anything. But it was never meant to be. Your mother was very mindful of her duty as Queen. Duty over love. That’s what she had always been taught at an early age. And so, duty it was. Much to both their dismays, I’m afraid it was a choice that served neither well. But they say love is the death of duty and duty must always prevail. No matter the cost.’_

…And it must always be that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. For those of you who work for the Post Office, I'm sure they can vouch for me, we literally have no life. So, I only get to write whenever they see fit to bless me with a day off. lol 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter was a little bleak. I guess...maybe? But, I promise there is a method to my madness. As you can see, Daenerys is having a bit of a hard time making her mind up over Jorah. Does she love him, does she not? Is it worth the fight, or is not? And on and on it goes. 
> 
> I'm really hoping that the battle she's waging internally is conveyed the way I'm seeing it play out in my mind. But don't worry, things do get hot and steamy again. Eventually. 
> 
> And you may notice the little quote from Ser Barristan at the end. I tried to more of less paraphrase the quote in the books and add it to how I saw him relaying that bit of information to her, if it had been added into the series. 
> 
> As always, to all my fellow readers. You guys are so awesome and I wanted to thank you so much for all the reviews and lovely comments. If you haven't reviewed yet, please do, cause I love hearing from you. Be blessed, my little Jorleesi peeps!


	10. Killing Me Softly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, biatches!!! 
> 
> It seems like I've been MIA for forevahs! 
> 
> So, let me get ya'll up to date. Yes, I said, ya'll - What can I say, I'm a Southern Bell through and through. 
> 
> Anyways, the Post Office has been working my ass like a mule. And then when I do get time to write, guess what...Ol' Writer's block says, 'NOPE, NOT TA-DAY!'
> 
> I finally got past all that mess last night and was able to turn a paragraph into fourteen pages. Yay me! 
> 
> Oh and Jeshi is back in this chapter. I think you guys will like that scene.
> 
> Okay, so let me explain the chapter. I was originally just going to write like a whole scene between Daenerys and Jorah, but then I thought it might be fun to write a bunch of clips that kind of surround what's taking place during their separation. You know, a series of scenes taking place behind the main story - Things like what D&D never gave us in GoT. 🖕
> 
> Also, this chapter really centers around Dany's thoughts. She is so freaking indecisive. One minute she's thinking positive and seeing a tiny glimmer of hope, then the next she's burning the hell out it and killing it dead. 
> 
> ☠️ Straight kilt it. ☠️
> 
> I know I have been gone for almost a month. So, it may help you guys to go back and refresh your memory by reading the last chapter, that way you're not so lost. But if not, don't worry, this chapter picks right up where the other one left off. It starts on the very night that she breaks Ser Jorah's heart, as ToasTea would say, 'like Ramen Noodles.' lol
> 
> Chapter Eleven is ready to post and will be put up tomorrow night., as soon as I get off of work. So be on the look out for it. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it!

The moon was high in the sky, slightly resting behind her left shoulder. But it’s light was of little solace, dimmed by the dark clouds passing overhead.

Oddly enough, nature had chosen a befitting scene. One that matched her somber mood perfectly. 

It would seem her heart was overcast as well. 

Being given a taste of love, only to have duty snub out it’s flame. 

And now, the memories of that encounter, hung predominantly over her head…much like the shadow of clouds dauntingly loaming above. 

She didn’t hear the small, cautious steps approaching. 

Or perhaps she did but was so heavy laden by the weight of her thoughts, that she lacked the fortitude to respond. 

Or the desire to care. 

Finding herself perfectly content in staring out into the night sky. Her only company being the darkness and memories of what could have been. 

From her balcony, she could see her city alit, hear the ocean waves crashing upon the shores in the distance. 

She watched Drogon’s dark shadow piercing through the clouds, vaguely smiling at the sight, but missing the familiar warmth it normally brought.

When her eyes scanned to the Dothraki camps stretched outside her gates, her smile fades and darkens, as erotic images of Ser Jorah with Jeshi begin flooding her thoughts.

Daenerys closes her eyes and bitterly shakes her head, as if desperately trying to separate herself from the mental image of his lips fiercely seeking Jeshi’s, of him moving inside of her with just as much skill and passion, as he had shown her the previous night.

“Your Grace,” Missandei says, “May I bring you something?”

The Queen looks slightly over her shoulder, acknowledging her friend’s presence, but failing to offer up an answer, as she continues to stare off into the night. 

Slowly, her friend moves closer, but ever mindful of the solitude her Queen requires tonight. 

“Perhaps something to help you sleep?” She offers. 

But still, she remains silent. 

Understanding, Missandei bows her head. “Forgive me, Your Grace, for disturbing you.” 

“How did you know?” 

Daenerys casts her a curious look, with an arched brow.

She was referring to this morning and her ability to correctly establish just whom had occupied her bed, though he had been long gone by the time Missandei had arrived. 

“It was the look in your eyes, Your Grace.” 

Her eyebrows shot up, “And what sort of look is this?” 

“Of a woman in love.” 

“I am a Queen. I am not afforded the luxury of love.” 

Missandei gave her a baffled look. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but why not?” 

She turned her gaze back toward the Dothraki camps below, another lull creeping its way in between them. 

Missandei could see Dany contemplating, her thoughts turning inward, reflective. Noting how she was having a hard time coming to terms with the finality of speaking it the thoughts aloud. As if saying it, would give it life, making it concrete and unchangeable.

“It’s truly ironic, isn’t it?” Daenerys gave a wan smile. “My legacy is built upon the virtue of freeing those who have been enslaved and yet, I am one myself…I have been my whole life.”

Missandei placed a comforting hand to her friend’s shoulder. “Then do for yourself, what you have done for so many others…break the chains, Your Grace.” 

Her Queen gave a thin smile. “I wish it were that simple.” 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 _Nine days._

That’s how much time had passed since their encounter. 

No rumors have reached her ears about their interlude and she’s certain Tyrion would have questioned her on the matter by now.

Of course, she’s seen her Lord Commander every day since then, their brief encounters always mixed with an air of awkwardness and indifference.

Much to her dismay, Ser Jorah was back to his original position at her side in the audience chamber and she found herself almost wishing for Daario instead. 

_Almost._

Unfortunately, she has been reduced to stealing glances at the man she now avoids, as if he had become stricken with greyscale again. 

Still unable to bring herself to look him in the eye, for fear that someone would see right through the façade she was trying so desperately to downplay. 

It’s as if she had entered into some survival mode, increasingly astonished by the lies one would tell their heart, just to make it through the day. 

But it was the nights that really tormented her. 

When all is quiet and sleep seems to make a sport out of eluding you, leaving your thoughts to their own vices.

She’s noticed that they don’t greet each other anymore.

And when they do, it’s done in a subtle way, where neither’s eyes meet. One or the other, always looking down or at some unknown object in the distance. At anything, except the one thing they both are aching to behold.

In fact, they interact as little as possible, unless forced to do so. 

And in Mormont fashion, despite their being at odds, he has successfully carried out every one of her orders. From securing the city for a possible invasion to establishing military ranks within the Dothraki. 

Although, she did lose a full night of sleep when she discovered that he had named Jeshi, Captain of the archers. But she would drink poison before she ever disclosed that information to him. 

Nor will she ever tell him about the confrontation she had with her either. 

The boldness of the girl, to linger behind after she had held a meeting with those Ser Jorah had appointed to rank in the great hall, while she half-heartedly picked at her supper. 

Looking back, she’s quite proud of the way she was able to smooth her astounded expression into one of apathy. 

The way she made her wait until she was finished eating before acknowledging that she was even still in her presence. 

The way her eyes narrowed with malice, when her violet eyes rose to meet her amber ones, challenging her to dare voice whatever self-righteous speech she felt entitled to say in Ser Jorah’s defense. 

But that speech never came. 

Only a declared fact.

One she was well aware of since Qarth.

“Jorah the Andal loves you.” 

Daenerys didn’t even acknowledge the declaration. 

Coolly refilling her chalice with more wine.

Jeshi’s brows furrowed predominantly. “Why break him?” 

She watches her Queen bring the chalice to her lips, then pause, her eyes snapping to hers instantly. 

“Tell me, have you two resumed your relationship?” 

“He does not love me.” 

“That was not my question.” 

Gods, she wanted to take so much pleasure in the way the girl’s eyes darkened. How her fist clenched tighter around her bow, trying to ground her rising anger. 

“No. Like I say, he love Khaleesi.” 

“Then Ser Jorah does not concern you.” 

Jeshi’s shoulders squared and her chin tilted higher in the air. “When you break him, it concern me.” 

“Because you still love him?” 

“He is friend.” 

“But you want him to be more?” 

“So do Khaleesi.” The accusation left no room for doubt. 

Daenerys laughed, but the truth of the allegation seemed to stick in her throat, causing her to take a sip of her wine, in hopes of washing it down. 

And she hated how detached her words sounded. 

The coldness of them. 

The way they reverberated in her head and mocked the coward she was. 

“He is a lowborn Knight.” Her eyes pierced Jeshi’s. “Not a fit consort for a Queen.” 

“So, Jorah the Andal not worthy?” 

“I’m afraid not.” Dany softly said, taking another sip of her wine. 

“But he worthy enough to fuck?” 

And that was the accusation that caught her off guard. 

The one she didn’t see coming. 

The rebuff that almost caused her to obscenely spew every last content of her wine in a manner unbefitting of a Queen. 

The only time Jeshi gained ground on her in this verbal battle of covetousness, causing the dragon Queen to drop her shield and flounder out in the open. 

“Did Ser Jorah tell you that?” She quickly countered, only to realize her folly too late. 

And she loathed the look of victory that washed over the Dothraki’s features. 

“No. Jorah the Andal say nothing. But I _know_ him.” 

Daenerys carefully set her chalice upon the table, before pinning the girl with a dangerous glare.

“Then perhaps you should offer your services to him once more? I’m sure that will mend whatever you deem has been broken.” 

Jeshi’s eyes widened, her brows almost shooting straight up to her forehead. 

And Dany couldn’t help but to take pleasure in how offended the Dothraki beauty truly seemed. 

She watched as her hand gripped her bow again then squeezed… _tight_. So tight that Daenerys could visibly see the white in her knuckles and smiled in triumph.

“ _You_ break him, _you_ fix him.” 

Daenerys’ smile abruptly ceased as she coldly stared at the girl for a few seconds, then waved a dismissive hand. 

“Leave. _Now._ ” 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

The next morning was less exciting. 

She sat idly in the council room, strumming her fingers impatiently upon the table her counsel members now surrounded, as Tyrion and Varys argued their opposing political views. 

Daario stood behind Tyrion, rolling his eyes, while blowing air upon his nails and shining them upon his leather armor. 

_‘Vain till the bitter end,’_ she idly thought.

Daenerys eyes shift to Missandei, whom gives her a solemn smile. One that suggests she is still concerned about her. 

She smiles back and slowly her eyes move to the man sitting across from her. 

The one who has robbed her of sleep, unknowingly forced her to defend her actions to another woman, and whose very image has sent her fleeing upon Drogon’s back for countless nights now. 

He’s oblivious to her gaze. 

And this is how she prefers him. 

Unaware of her attentions. 

It’s safer this way. 

She secretly takes him in. 

Noting the meticulous way his hair is combed, despite the heavy, dark circles under his eyes that contradict his rested state. How his leather, dragon armor fits him perfectly with his bear sigil proudly displayed in the middle. 

And she knows, that despite his hand being hidden under the table, she can envision it firmly planted upon the pommel of his sword. A telltale that reveals his churning anxiety on the inside, despite his calm demeanor on the outside. 

Her eyes drift to his neck, taking in the blue tie that always seems to highlight his eyes. She notices his beard seems to be thicker, either from genuine neglect or from idleness over his appearance. 

Whatever the cause, it suits him nevertheless. 

And then her eyes scan further up, only to freeze when she sees him staring back at her. His expression is somewhat stern, almost distant, like it has been for over a week now. 

She can visibly see the intensity behind his gaze blaring one word in her mind. 

_Busted._

He slightly tilts his head to the right, then shifts a bit in his seat, as if itching to cross the void she’s created between them. 

Both lacking the ability to turn away. 

After being starved for days of one another’s recognitions – they’re finally seeing each other. 

And the light in his eyes change, growing slightly darker, more daring. 

More tempting.

Telling her, that with one spoken decree, that he would and could take her right then, in front of gods and country. 

Council be damned. 

And the thought sends a chill down her spine and a rush of heat between her legs. 

It’s enough. 

Enough to make her forget her decision. 

And revisit new possibilities that could leave duty intact, her heart’s walls reinforced and keep Ser Jorah in her bed. 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

His lips seek hers, but she quickly turns away, hands firmly planted upon his chest, reminding him of the distance she seems so insistent upon. 

He steps back and gives her a confounded look. 

And he’s waging a war. 

Unsure of this new side of her, but also battling the urge to take whatever she’s willing to give.

But she makes the decision for him, by arching a suggestive brow and giving him that coquettish smile that always seems to be his undoing.

He watches as she turns her back to him, fingers pulling her silver hair to one side, rolling her head slightly in a way that exposes her neck. 

Jorah quickly takes the initiative, pulling her to him, as his lips slowly begin mapping out her skin, licking and biting down to her shoulder. 

She feels his hand slowly start drifting down her thighs, grabbing a handful of material, then roughly pulling her gown up and over her head, exposing the naked skin beneath. 

He’s just now got her naked and already, she’s desperate for more. 

But it seems like an eternity since she’s had him, when in reality, it’s only been less than a fort night. 

And she knows nothing good will come from this. 

From history repeating itself.

They are numerous love stories that warn against what they both seem to be seeking in the other. 

A lowborn Knight reaching too far above his status and of the Queen, reaching too low. 

She knows how this fairytale ends. 

It’s rather predictable. 

The ending. 

It’ll be sad. 

Tragic, in fact. 

They say that villains never get happy endings. 

Well, neither do Queens. 

But gods, she’s missed him. 

Every atom in her body craves him. 

Needs him. 

Yearns for him.

Sometimes, distance and silence can be the most deafening of words, the greatest revelation of circumstances and the best divisive tactic in making a heart act. 

Waking it from its slumber, as it rises to the occasion, unbending in its endeavor to change the course of circumstances it no longer accepts as final.

And she’s not so far gone without hope to realize that their ending has not yet been established. 

Courses can be changed. 

Fate can realign. 

Stories can be rewritten.

If destiny has revealed anything, it’s that nothing is final. 

They’ve endured so much together…and apart. 

The gods have conspired to separate them, deftly uncoiling their tether, only to watch in awe as it recoils back, refusing to be undone. 

Spurning a life without the other. 

And that’s the beauty behind it all. 

Within their hands, lie the ability to create their own circumstances. 

She vaguely hears his hands undoing his belt, as it clatters to the ground. 

His armor is long gone. 

No doubt that he was in bed when she had her guards summon him. 

The hour is late, but not so late that he would refuse the call. 

Especially after the flicker of hope she saw dancing in his eyes during the council meeting. 

She moans loud, when he bends her over the mattresses edge and drops to his knees behind her. 

“Oh fuck.” She says, trembling as his tongue instantly dives inside her. _“Oh…fuck, fuck, fuck.”_

She grips the sheets around her tight, pulling them towards her in a desperate attempt to ground the emotions Jorah is stirring within her body. 

He licks her with firm swipes, sliding all the way up to her clit and then diving back inside her. 

And she swears again, almost comes when he pushes a finger, then two, inside her and begins pumping in and out.

His Queen tries to move away, but he stops her, grabs her hips and pulls her back to him. 

Back to his mouth. 

Where his tongue moves in long, deliberate swipes from her center to her clit. 

She’s close. 

He can tell by the way her hips are writhing all over the bed, seeking more friction. 

And he gives it to her. 

Gives her what she’s begging for. 

As he pushes his fingers back inside her, then curls them, finding the spot that always unravels her. 

It doesn’t take her long before she’s crying out his name and voicing a trail of obscenities as he drives her toward her peak and over. 

And she’s still in the middle of her orgasm when he knees her legs further apart, then pushes his cock inside her, both groaning as her muscles clench around him, prolonging her climax. 

He almost completely pulls out, before thrusting back into her as deep as this position will allow him to go. 

His lips move to her ear, lightly bites and then sucks, as his hips begin to pick up their pace. 

“Gods, Jorah.” She cries out. “Please… _Please don’t stop.”_

She hears him let out a deep, guttural growl that vaguely sounds like Khaleesi. 

His thrusts become harder. 

Deeper. 

More deliberate. 

And she knows that neither one of them will last too much longer. 

This is what their separation has reduced them too. 

All the forbidden looks. 

The indifference. 

The nights without sleep. 

The time spent without each other.

It drove them to this. 

This carnal moment. 

Where they’ve both forgotten themselves, giving their emotions precedence over their actions. 

He can feel her muscles tightening up again and he knows she’s on the brink. 

A few more deep thrusts and she’s coming so hard that her moans almost become silent. 

Jorah’s thrusts become more erratic, more desperate. 

“Shit.” She exclaims, when his hand works its way underneath her hips, stroking her clit in time with his movements. _“Mmm, don’t stop.”_

And he doesn’t. 

Not until he’s pushing her over the edge again, with him soon following behind her, coming deep inside her, just as his Queen begged him too. 

When she comes back down, she can feel Jorah’s lips softly kissing her neck, down to her shoulders, then the length of her back, groaning in unison as he pulls out of her and lays beside her. 

Both completely sated and spent. 

She watches him. 

Watches him as he stares at the ceiling, unsure of what comes next and yet, in no rush to unearth it. 

She wants to reach out, run her fingers along his cheek, nails scratching through the thick hairs of his beard. 

She wants to ask him to stay, to hold her all night, with their legs entwined and arms securely locked around the other. 

But she doesn’t do neither of those things. 

Duty wouldn’t allow it. 

A Queen’s heart cannot afford such indulgences. 

_This_ – is all that can exist between them. 

So, when he finally turns his eyes towards her, she looks away, preparing herself for what comes next. 

Slowly, she stands up, retrieves her gown from the floor and slips it on, walking toward the decanter of wine and calmly pouring a glass.

And he can feel it. 

The air in the room shifts and change.

Jorah watches his Queen transform from a woman of passion, to one of detachment. 

Removing herself…No, her heart, as far from his grasp as possible. 

Daenerys keeps her back to him the whole time, unable to face him and yet, wishing she was brave enough to do so. 

“You may take your leave now, Ser Jorah.” 

She doesn’t have to look to visualize the way his face fell. 

Or how the light in his eyes extinguish. 

No, she can feel his heart breaking from here, as he realizes just what she’s proposing.

Just what she’s willing to offer. 

_Here_ , she’s drawn a proverbial line in the sand.

He can only have half of her…or none at all. 

She closes her eyes tightly, as she hears him silently dress behind her. 

Then fights back the tears as he leaves without a single protest.

His silence is quite possibly the one action that unnerves her the most. 

And damn him for it. 

Damn his patience with her. 

His understanding.

Damn him for knowing exactly what she’s doing. 

The lies she’s placating herself with.

The falsehoods of how duty and love can truly coincide – but only if one never infringes upon the other. 

Of how he can occupy her bed, but not her heart. 

No, never her heart. 

And damn _her_ for that.


	11. Laws of Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys requires Ser Jorah's services again. Meanwhile, Varys visits Tyrion with disturbing news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And....it's the new chapter I promised. 
> 
> This one takes place possibly a few weeks from the last one. When you're reading it, I hope you get the sense that what's happening between these two, has happened several times since we last left off.

_Her back was to him._

Her back was always to him. 

Of course, whenever they did sleep together, it seemed this was her preferred position. 

He wasn’t sure why she chose to hide her face from him, but the safety it allotted did make her less guarded, less cold when he allowed it. 

The deflection seemed to help her cope with the change she initiated in their relationship and he was a desperate man, a beggar willing to take whatever rations of love she permitted, so he dared not speak out against the aversion…no matter how it tore at his heart. 

This seemed to be his current fate. 

A repetitious venture. 

One that seemed to have no end. 

This was how it always began whenever she needed him. 

She would send her guards to retrieve him.

And soon, they would find themselves much like they are now. 

Breathless and wanting. 

Joined and fucking each other as if their lives depended upon it. 

And when the moment was over, she would send him away. Only to have the act repeat itself days later. 

Sometimes weeks. 

No matter the interval of time, one thing remained constant. 

It always repeated, as if they were stuck in some unescapable loop.

Daenerys was riding him slow and precise, taking his cock in deep, causing a perfect mixture of pleasure and pain. 

He watched as her pace began to increase, desperate and needy, intently focused on chasing her release down. 

She was quiet, her breathing labored, exerted from the eagerness her hips were employing. But her silence is what unnerved him the most…she was never silent during their couplings. Never.

He was flat on his back, his arms loosely laying to the side, always careful not to touch her. 

Jorah knows the rules of their arrangement. 

She’s never really spoken them aloud, but she shields herself behind these acts of detachment. 

Behind these walls she built. 

He doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t hold her unless asked to and even those are very rare occasions. 

But then, there are times when she looks at him, serious and thoughtful, like she wishes he would damn all these reticent customs she’s set in place and just take her in an unbidden manner that she has longed for him to take her.

It wasn’t until she let out a defeated growl, that he realized she had been chasing shadows, her release nowhere in sight. 

Her mind still weighing heavy upon the threats of a foreign army determined to drive her from her city. 

Jorah could feel the frustration radiating from her, a need teetering on the edge of desperation, yet unable to fall. 

She drops her shoulder slightly and gives him a desperate look, her hips never pausing in their effort to find what she’s so fiercely seeking. 

He was crossing the line and Jorah knows he should stop, shouldn't let his hands creep up her back, shouldn't sit up and pull her closer to him. 

It was wrong and he knew it. 

But her response only encouraged the rightness of it all. 

Daenerys melted into him, his arms wrapping tightly around her chest, hands securely gripping her shoulders, lightly nudging her to follow him back to the mattress. She easily obliges his unspoken request, where she now lays fully on top of him, her back to his chest. 

And the thought occurs to her, that she’s never actually had sex in this position. Normally, or with any other man shorter than Ser Jorah, she would find the position awkward. But the difference in their stature seemed to only embrace the new arrangement, making it all the more exciting.

Dany unconsciously opens her legs further, as Jorah thrusts into her. 

She makes a noise that's something like a whine, high and tight in the back of her throat, her head rolling back to rest against where his shoulder and collar bone meet. 

Jorah leans down to her ear, surprised at how she instinctively moves closer to him, as he whispers. 

“Relax, Khaleesi.” 

He thrusts into her again, slow and deep. 

Dany arches her back when he drops one hand from her shoulder, his fingers lightly trailing through the valley of her breasts, down her stomach and between her legs. 

“Don’t rush it,” he says, as his middle finger gently begins working her clit in time with his thrusts, rolling the nub and then applying just the right amount of pressure, “Let it build… slowly.” 

Her arm gently creeps around the back of his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, holding his mouth mere meters from hers. 

She opens her eyes, heavy and dark with passion, and holds his gaze as his hand and cock push her closer and closer to what she’s been chasing in vain for a quarter hour now. 

Jorah begins to push harder into her, and the movements of their bodies slightly cause their lips to graze against one another. 

He’s disappointed when she doesn’t close the gap and gods, all he wants to do is kiss her – _hard and meaningful._

But like her, he disciplines the urge.

Yet, his obedience doesn’t go unrewarded. 

He watches in a sex induced haze, as his Queen’s lips slightly part and her eyes close, focusing on seeking more friction. 

Her hips meet him for every deep stroke, then rotates on his cock in the most suggestive manner. 

Daenerys is almost there.

_Seven hells._

Her body is practically begging him for what he’s offering. 

So, he moves his hands under her thighs, grasps them tight and spreads her legs wide. Then shifts his hips to a different angle and thrusts up.

_“Fuck!”_ She exhales loudly and he knows he’s found the right spot…the one that unhinges every part of her. 

Jorah feels her hand tighten around the back of his neck, her fingers digging into his hair and pulling, trying desperately to ground the raging emotions he’s stirring within her body. 

Emotions that clearly betray how she’s never been fucked so properly before, at least not to her satisfaction. 

He dips his head into the crook of her neck, and plants kisses up to her ear, lightly biting it, then soothing the transgression with his tongue. 

His Queen loudly moaning his name into two syllables. 

_“Jo – rah!”_

She commands him not to stop, nearly writhing on top of him as he continues to push hard into her. 

Fucking her as though it was his sole purpose for being. 

And he can feel it, her muscles tightening until it’s a quick unraveling. 

His grip tightens when she arches her back high, her whole body shaking uncontrollably from her release. 

Jorah grits his teeth, while Daenerys grinds her hips down onto him, still trying to take him in as deep as she possibly can, riding out every wave of her sensations. 

Her Knight had every intention of pulling out before his release, just as he had the past few times they were together. But it was his Queen’s last command that forced him to neglect his objective. 

“Come in me, Jorah… _please_.” She begged. 

It was the only encouragement he needed. 

And before she knows it, she finds herself on her back, as he settles between her legs, sliding his cock back inside and successfully eliciting a soft, satisfied moan from her lips.

She watches as he grabs both legs behind her knees and pushes them high, slamming his cock into her – _frantic and reckless._

Amazed to find her coaxing him with words no Queen should ever utter in public to any man, much less in private. 

She took every stroke diligently, almost screaming when her second orgasm overtook her by surprise, this one more intense than the first. 

A small, satisfied smirk graced her lips when she realized her bear was following close behind with a deep, guttural growl. 

A sure sign that his climax was just as intense as hers.

When he slowly rolls off of her, he watches in awe as Daenerys’ fingers run through his bangs, smoothing the rebellious strands from his forehead. 

His eyes close, relishing the feel of her lips lightly kissing his cheek, then his forehead in reverence. 

And he’s certain that she was still caught up in the moment, completely unaware of the tender acts. 

When Jorah opens his eyes again, she’s intently staring at him, while her arm wraps around his torso, possessively pulling him closer to her. 

He knows she feels it. 

That familiar force that always seems to appear, whenever they’re in each other’s presence. 

And sometimes, he feels like there's so much between them that he doesn't quite know how to express it, how to let it out in a way that won't cause her to banish him for a third and final time. 

It seems like an eternity, but only mere seconds pass between them as they stare at each other to the point that it’s almost uncomfortable, even though they've never been this awkward with each other before, but normally the air doesn't feel quite so thick either.

Her eyes soften and she bites her lower lip, contemplating. 

The movement instantly draws Jorah’s eyes to the motion. 

And gods, he wants to taste her lips so bad. 

He watches as she slowly begins to move forward, closing the distance and then stops, as if waking from a dream.

Daenerys quickly rolls over to her side, her back to him once again. 

The only thing lying between them now is the humid air and her reinforced walls. 

That amorous spell, that previously had them bound and tethered, now gone without a trace. 

While Jorah’s heart remained fixed and certain of her, his Queen’s reverted back to its indifferent and detached state. 

Cold as ever.

“The hour is late, and I need to rest.” 

She hesitates, uncertain if she truly wants to be alone, but the desire to keep him by her side quickly loses out. 

“You may go, Ser Jorah.” 

There’s a long pause behind her, total silence where she would almost swear, he isn’t breathing. 

Daenerys shuts her eyes tight, her brows creasing in agony, as she hears him reach out in the darkness for her. 

“Khaleesi…Don’t you think we should discuss thi – ” 

But her next words rapidly cut him off, keeping his touch at bay.

“That will be all.” She intones firmly. 

Reminding herself that she must seek his touch out less and less.

**-x-x-x-**

There was a light knock upon Tyrion’s door, and his eyes instantly went to the diversion, wondering just whom would be visiting him at this hour. 

He knew it wasn’t the dragon Queen. She had retired early tonight, which seemed, as of late, to be a repeating occurrence with her.

Tyrion slid from his chair to the floor, walking towards the door, opening it.

And suddenly, he wasn’t so shocked by the interruption as Lord Varys cautiously checks the halls once more before entering. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Varys regarded Tyrion with concern in his eyes.

“Perhaps you should pour yourself a drink before I reveal what my little birds have just reported.” 

The Lannister gave him a dubious look. 

“Before, you were trying to persuade me into giving up the drink. Now, you’re trying to talk me back into it. Are all eunuch’s so indecisive?”

Varys gave him a pointed look. “Do not start with the eunuch jokes. Not tonight.”

“That bad. Fine, I’m going.” He said, as he walked over toward the decanter, filling his glass to the brim, then looking to Varys as he held it up, offering. 

“No, I’m afraid not.” 

“More for me.” Tyrion mumbled as he took a large gulp of his wine. “So, tell me, what is this disparaging news you have?” 

“I’m hearing whispers of a bear who visits the dragon’s chambers in the dead of night.” Varys softly said.

Tyrion’s expression was full of doubt. 

“Why are you whispering? We’re alone.” 

Varys makes a face and rolls his eyes. “I’m being quite serious.”

The dwarf’s first reply was a hard, unblinking stare. 

“I assure you, Mormont is the last man our Queen would choose to bed. I dare say that I have far better chances than he.”

“She trusts him.” 

Tyrion waves a dismissive hand. “Yes. Trust is one thing, but love is another.” 

“I fear you may be wrong, my friend.”

“And what if they are? Hmm?” Tyrion took another sip of his wine. “Don’t worry. Even if the rumors are true, it will never last. He’s not a fit consort for a Queen and she knows this. She’ll end it before we sail for Westeros.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“She will.” Tyrion reassured.

“I wish I could share your confidence.” Varys says, still unsure. “Regardless, this matter needs to be dealt with before it’s too late.” 

“Listen to yourself…there is nothing to worry about.” 

“You say that now. But what happens when we discover it is true? And by then, our young, impressionable Targaryen Queen fancy’s herself in love. What if she decides to forsake her people…all for _love_?” 

Varys emphasized the last word as if it was the most offensive word to have existed. 

“Mormont would never allow her to abandon her pursuit of the Iron Throne. The man idolizes her. He would never forgive himself if he just stood aside and allowed her to walk away from it.” 

“Yes, he worships her and in that lies the crux of our dilemma. He’ll do whatever she asks.” 

“Except that.” Tyrion countered. “As complex as their relationship is, he loves her too much to permit it.” 

“Even if she’s doing it for him?” Varys reasoned. “Are you so convinced, that you are willing to turn a blind eye to the whispers circling about those two?” 

The dwarf gave him a droll look, reading further into his friend’s apprehension, pointing an accusatory finger at him. 

“You believe them, don’t you? The rumors?” 

Varys drew in a deep breath, then exhaled, his forehead deeply creased in concern. 

“I believe there is only one event that could keep her from conquering Westeros.” 

Tyrion paused, his wine mere meters from his lips. “Oh, the suspense. Do tell?” 

“If Ser Jorah succeeds in getting her to fall in love with him…I fear all of this,” He waved his hand about the adorning room. “Will be for naught, my friend.” 

Varys watched as Tyrion set his half empty chalice down upon the table, then slide it towards him.

“Perhaps you should reconsider drinking.” 

“Must everything be a joke to you?” 

Tyrion held his hands up, surrendering. 

“Fine, if it pleases you. I will look into the matter.” 

The Eunuch narrowed his eyes. “And exactly how do you plan on doing that?” 

The dwarf gave him a devious smile. “Simple. I’ll just ask the Queen…or maybe, I could spice it up a little by asking Mormont directly.”


	12. The Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorah and Daenerys begin to grow closer, until Tyrion decides to intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter. Yays! 
> 
> This one was almost completely finished. I only needed the last part and luckily, I was able to finish that tonight. 
> 
> I have to admit, this is probably one of my favorite chapters. It's actually rather sweet, until Tyrion shows up.
> 
> Also, the next chapters, are written, except the battle of Meereen. The only thing keeping me from posting them is the fact that I'm not sure if I want to rearrange the timeline or not and move the battle of Meereen to an earlier chapter. Such as next one. 
> 
> I'll have to go back over everything this Sunday and make my decision then. 
> 
> Either way I choose to go, I can make it work. I do know that. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's a little early, since I planned on posting it tomorrow when I got off of work. Instead, I chose to do it tonight. 
> 
> Once again, if you're new to the story, leave a review and let me know. And to those who faithfully review, you guys are the best evah!!! I love you dearly!

She was standing just beyond the balcony doors, her demeanor hard and rigid. 

And he imagines that she has been pacing aimlessly back and forth for some time, her shoulders weighed down by the magnitude of collective dilemmas that have driven her to send for him at such a late hour. 

His steps are silent, almost stealth. 

And for a moment, he thinks of clearing his throat, to properly make her aware of his presence. 

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he watches as she pauses mid-pace, head slowly raising, suddenly alert and pulled from the dismal routine that previously had her under its spell, as her violet eyes instantly seek his. 

Being pulled to him like gravity. 

No, it was more natural than that. 

With less force. 

A smoother transition. 

More willing. 

More familiar. 

“You weren’t sleeping, were you?” 

He wanted to laugh. 

Wanted to tell her that he doesn’t sleep anymore. 

She’s robbed him of that.

But he just shook his head instead. 

“No, Khaleesi.” 

And she looks almost relieved. 

Comforted by the fact that she’s not the only one sleep has forsaken. 

He’s not exactly sure of what’s troubling her. 

Although he suspects it could be the recent news delivered by Varys. 

Information that confirmed his previous suspicions of an ambush from their surrounding neighbors. A vain attempt to drive the dragon Queen from their lands and rush her plans of conquering Westeros to an earlier date. 

Just southwest of Meereen, thirty ships were spotted at port in Yunkai and it didn’t leave much to the imagination as to where such a large fleet was heading and why. 

He knew they would arrive soon, two or three days at the most and if they were wise, like the masters claimed to be, they would launch their attack at night. 

Jorah assumed the revelation of an impending battle was the cause behind her restlessness. 

But then, her expression changes to one of apprehension, as if ashamed that she even sent for him. 

Like she’s suddenly seeing how silly the rashness behind her decision was. 

She looks down at her hands for a moment, fidgeting, prevaricating from one foot to the other, before her eyes move back up to his. 

And he sees it. 

Suddenly knows the true reason he’s here, though she tries desperately to hide it with those impenetrable walls, but it’s her eyes that betray her, that give up her secrets. 

“You dreamed again, didn’t you?"

Immediately, she looks away. 

Disconcerted by his ability to see through her many facades. 

“What makes you say that?” She whispers, barely audible. 

He didn’t answer. 

Just takes a step and then stops, remembering those damnable, unspoken rules she’s so intent on keeping in place. 

So respectably, he leaves enough space for her to decide if she wants to erase the distance between them or not. 

Giving her a choice. 

He _always_ leaves her with a choice. 

Even if the answer breaks him. 

But then she gives him this pleading look, one that she tries to make unreadable, but fails miserably. 

And something in his heart snaps, giving him the voice that he needs. 

“Come here.” He beckons, low and smooth. 

Her eyes widen slightly, shocked and impressed that he’s taking the initiative. 

She tries to appear affronted. 

But Jorah’s not buying it and she knows it. 

“What?” She breathes. 

Her Knight shifts from one foot to the other, tilts his head slightly, then pierces her with those cobalt eyes that always seem to push the beats of her heart into overtime.

 _“Come. Here.”_ He repeats, a little more demanding. 

Daenerys hesitates, arching an amused brow at his hard tone. 

She’s not buying it either. 

He watches as she skeptically points to herself, then to him. 

And silently he nods, confirming that’s exactly where he wants her to be. 

Still, she lingers for a moment, contemplating, then slowly walks toward him, only to stop directly in front of him, bravely turning her eyes up to his. 

A silent beseeching playing behind their violet depths. 

Carefully, he reaches out and pulls her in. 

Despite all pretenses before, his Queen goes willingly. 

Almost falling into his embrace. 

As if all she ever needed was for someone to hold her like this. 

No, not someone – _him_. 

She sighs audibly as she buries her face into his chest, her arms wrapping around his back, grasping handfuls of his tunic and pulling him tighter to her. 

Suddenly afraid that he’ll vanish into the night, like a wisp of smoke. 

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart?” 

His voice was so soft. 

So inviting.

Every intonation laced with the burden of his love. 

Daenerys closes her eyes. 

“Just this.” 

He holds her closer to him. 

“Then this is what you shall have.” 

She’s not sure how long he’s been holding her. 

Or how long he’s been gently rocking her back and forth, placing sweet, comforting kisses to her forehead in sporadic intervals. 

All she knows, is that what she’s feeling, the depth of love he’s stirring within her soul, she doesn’t want to end. 

And the safety provided within its embrace, is a refuge she’s never experienced before. 

“They seem to be getting worse.” 

His statement draws her back to the present. 

“Perhaps a little.”

“Was it the same one?” 

She merely nodded, confirming his suspicions. 

Jorah pulled slightly back from their embrace, his eyes searching hers. 

“I don’t plan on dying anytime soon, Khaleesi.” 

Her eyes drifted to some unknown spot behind him. 

“I’m afraid, neither one of us have a say in the matter.” 

“Aye, but sometimes a dream is just a dream…Nothing more.” 

Her eyes search his, sad and desperate. 

“I fear what would become of me if I ever lost you under such circumstances.” 

It was a confession he didn’t see coming and for a moment, he wondered if she was even aware that she said it out loud.

But then again, she told him of the madness she encounters in her dreams. 

The overwhelming magnitude of her rage and hate. 

Of her need to destroy everything that’s daring to breath in her wake. 

As well as her lack of remorse afterwards. 

The memory is seared into his brain, of how she cried in his arms, repeating over and over, _‘It’s not me…it’s not me.’_

And as long as he draws breath, it never will be. 

“Come here,” He whispers, drawing her back to him, his hand lightly stroking her silver hair. “That won’t happen, Khaleesi. I won’t let it.” 

“Promise?” 

“Aye, I promise.” 

“Come what may?” 

She could feel him smiling into her hair. 

“Come what may.” 

And she believes him. 

Trusts him more than any other man who came before him. 

It’s just not in his heart to make false promises to those he loves. 

Her bear just isn’t built that way. 

He’ll fight to live, just to keep his word. 

And her heart will rest easier because of it. 

Daenerys turns her head, lips pressing intimately against his neck. 

“Must it always be this hard?” She asks, almost pleading. 

“Aye.” Jorah confirms. “Unfortunately, it will only get harder.” 

He thought she was referring to the arduous efforts it takes to rule a Kingdom. 

The struggle for peace, when everyone around you is screaming for war. 

But when she leans back and looks at him, serious and thoughtful, worrying her bottom lip as her eyes drift lower to his, contemplating the rationality behind her next move. 

He suddenly realizes she’s speaking from a more personal level. 

Such as matters of the heart. 

And he desperately wants to take his answer back. 

Tell her it doesn’t have to be hard. 

If only she’d give up the fight and wave that white flag, he’s been so faithfully searching the horizon for. 

But she’s a dragon and dragons never surrender. 

He waits for her to close the distance. 

Silently prays to the gods that she will. 

Watches her debate the act in her mind and lose out once again to the cold, distant Queen he’s slowly becoming accustomed too. 

“You should get some rest, Your Grace.” 

She blinks at the formality in his voice and he knows she doesn’t like it.

Not one bit.

His Queen steps back further from his embrace. 

The moment broken and lost to countless others. 

If they keep going at this rate, all that will be left of them is a disheartening trail of _‘what ifs’_ and _‘almost’s_.’ 

Jorah desperately tries to counteract her retreat by leaning down and swooping her up into his arms. 

Daenerys laughs. 

She actually laughs at the rashness behind his act.

And suddenly, all is forgiven. 

“You know I cannot sleep.” She mirthfully protests.

“You will tonight.” 

Daenerys arches a brow, a small smirk gracing her lips. 

“You sound so confident, dear Ser.”

Jorah flashes her that half smile that always seems to make her weak. 

“You do realize that I am capable of walking.” 

She watches as he steals a glance, his steps moving closer toward her bed. 

“I’m very aware that you are capable of many things, Khaleesi…All strong women are.” 

And she actually blushes from his compliment. 

Making her all the more beautiful. 

Spell-bound that such a feat was even remotely possible. 

Jorah pauses in front of her bed and for a moment, they just stare at one another, smiling like two teenagers experiencing their first love. 

Slowly, her hand moves up to the back of his neck, running her fingers through his curls there. 

And she sees it. 

Just how beneficial they could actually be together. 

Just how good he would be for her. 

Just how easily she could fall for him and never look back. 

Forgetting it all and regretting nothing. 

And oddly enough, she doesn’t shy away from the thought.

Instead, she carefully leans in, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek, catching the edge of his mouth by accident. 

He leans down, their foreheads touching, eyes closed in content. 

“Thank you.” She says softly. 

“For what?” 

“For being you.” 

“I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” 

“I know.” 

Gently, he lowers her onto the mattress. 

“But for now, you need to sleep.” 

And she looks disappointed. 

Her light-hearted mood suddenly dismal. 

Jorah watches her silent disposition, watches how she wouldn’t completely meet his gaze, despite being mere meters from him.

“What troubles you, Khaleesi?”

She briefly meets his eyes, then focuses upon his chest, as if embarrassed by what she was feeling. 

“I’m not certain I want this anymore.”

His heart sank, as did his knees to the floor. 

Suddenly, losing the strength to meet her gaze. 

Emotionally preparing himself, as she named off the countless reasons of why _‘whatever this was_ ,’ needed to end. 

But the speech he feared never came.

Just the brief, gentle caress of her hand to his face, softly lifting his eyes to hers. 

“You misunderstand me, Ser. I speak only of the Iron Throne.”

His forehead creased predominantly. “Is there something you want more?”

Jorah held his breath, as she nodded, her eyes fixed to his. 

“A life.” 

Jorah sighed, smiling sadly. 

“You can leave it all behind, Khaleesi. Sail to Braavos and search the city over until you find that red door you long for.” He reached out for her hand, holding it to his cheek. “Settle there and be happy.”

“Would you remain by side?” 

“If you’ll have me.”

“But I would no longer be your Queen.”

His eyes turned soft. 

“You will always be my Queen.”

A small, smile graced her lips, as she leaned in to lightly kiss his forehead. 

“Stay with me tonight?” She asked.

Jorah nodded, as she scooted over, making room for him to lie beside her. 

She easily molded into his embrace, content now on going to sleep and finding it easier than she originally thought it would be. 

Of course, he always had the ability to embolden her whenever she lost faith. 

As did she, for him. 

Making their dreams sweet.

-x-x-x-

They had been up for an hour now. 

The reprieve they had reached last night forgotten and pushed among the shadows.

At least for now. 

Until, Tyrion briskly walks into her chambers, shouting.

“Skirts down and breeches up!” 

Then looks up to see both, Jorah and Daenerys, giving him a strange look. 

“Oh, I see you’re already fully dressed.” He tosses the scroll in his hand, flippantly upon the table. “Thank the gods.” He mutters under his breath.

They exchanged a bewildered look. 

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Jorah gritted out. 

“Because normally when two people fuck, they do it naked. Surely you remember that much when you’re visiting our Queen during all hours of the night?” 

In a rage, Jorah instantly moves toward the dwarf, only to be stopped by Dany’s firm hand on his arm. 

“No…don’t, Jorah.”

The little Lannister forces a smile, then turns his accusatory eyes toward his Queen. 

“Do tell, Your Grace. The suspense is almost too much to bear.” His eyes alighted with the irony of that last word. “Am I to believe the rumors – are you summoning Mormont to your bed? Because oddly enough, I’m afraid I don’t recall a council meeting where you are inquiring about the pros and cons of fucking your Lord Commander.”

“Mind your tongue!” Jorah snapped. 

“That’s funny, I see neither of you denying the claim.” 

“Nothing happened.” Daenerys stated flatly. 

“Really?” Tyrion’s brows shot straight up to his forehead. “Oh, how foolish of me. You mean nothing happened last night. Correct?” He picks up the scroll again, emphasizing. “Because it’s all in here. A full report on the Queen’s nefarious activities with her Lord Commander.”

Jorah looks to Daenerys. “Varys.” 

“Seven hells,” Tyrion bellows, throwing his hands up in the air. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

The Queen rolls her eyes as her Hand continues maniacally shouting about the room. 

“Do you know what it’s like, explaining to Varys’ little birds the reason behind their Queen’s screams? That they are not in fact witnessing the event of her murder, but something else entirely different? Something good?!” Tyrion suddenly becomes dramatic, enacting out that very scene. “Oh, don’t fret little bird, those are called multiple orgasms.” 

“You would make a horrible father.” Jorah states flatly, as Daenerys stifles a laugh.

“Do not start with me, Mormont.” He points an accusing finger in his direction. “Not today!”

“You need to calm down.” Daenerys argues. “No one had any qualms when I was sleeping with Daario Naharis.” 

Jorah flinched at the mention of the sellsword’s name. 

But Tyrion never noticed, to busy countering the Queen’s claims. 

“That’s because you weren’t in love with –” 

He instantly stops midsentence, looks to Jorah, then back to Daenerys with a newfound discovery. 

“Wait…” He says, pointing to Jorah. “Are you in love with him?” 

Daenerys blinks at the accusation. 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Your Grace. Are you in love with Mormont?” 

And she’s suddenly very aware of Jorah’s eyes upon her, awaiting the answer to a question he was too afraid to pose himself.

“I don’t see how the answer to that matters.”

Tyrion scoffed. “I’m afraid it matters a great deal. You see, I’m trying to ascertain if the Queen I serve has a weakness or not.” 

He watched as she defiantly crossed her arms, her chin tilting slightly in opposition. 

“No.” She finally answers, refusing to look at the man beside her. 

“Good.” The dwarf said. “Very good.” His eyes snap to Jorah’s. “Remember that the next time she summons you to fuck her.” 

And before he knew it, he was sliding across the floor, blood pouring from his nose, as Mormont stood imposingly above him, with his Queen at his heels, reprimanding him harshly for the assault. 

But he heard none of it. 

Only Tyrion’s complaints reached above the shattering noise of his heart. 

“Shit.” He pinched his nose, then carefully moved it from side to side. “Oww, gods…You fucking broke my nose, Mormont.” 

“Good.” Jorah said, with a dangerous mixture of bitterness and anger lacing his voice. “Remember that the next time you open your mouth.” 

And with that threat, he was gone, despite the desperate calls from his Queen to return.


	13. The Battle of Meereen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys goes in search of Jorah, hoping to make amends. Instead, she makes things worse. 
> 
> Meanwhile, during the battle, Drogon offers some much, needed assistance to Daddy Jorah. 
> 
> And afterwards, Jeshi takes care of Jorah's wounds...until Daenerys interrupts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's Chapter Thirteen. 
> 
> It's a day late, but hey, at least I got it finished. 
> 
> It took me awhile to decide if I wanted to go this route with the whole battle scene. But then again, there is a point behind it going down like it did. So, I decided to leave it and ended up actually liking it even more after rereading back through everything. 
> 
> I hope everyone else enjoys it just as much. 
> 
> Also, I'm hoping to post another chapter tomorrow. But we'll see how that goes. 
> 
> I have a go between chapter stirring in my head that initially wasn't planned, so I'm thinking I'll write it tomorrow and post it. It may be a short chapter, but I promise you guys will most definitely like it. Until the end, of course. 
> 
> And once again, to everyone who has left kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and reviews - I love you guys and thank you so much for following the story.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in various colors of orange and violets. The serene setting a vast contrast to how she was feeling inside. 

Peace seemed to be so far from her grasp. 

Especially where her heart was concerned. 

Jorah had been avoiding her and she had followed along with his preferences…until now. 

She spotted him in the distance by the docks, his knuckles perched firmly upon the wooden table, staring at a map of what she could only guess was Essos. 

One of Varys’ little birds told her that this was his spot. 

His escape. 

The place he goes when he desires the solitude of his thoughts. 

She knows he doesn’t want to see her. 

Not mere hours after Tyrion had placed their private affairs on public display. 

Not this soon. 

But oddly enough, in a strange turn of events. 

She needed to see him. 

Desperate to explain. 

Hoping he’ll understand, that sometimes, all is not what it seems. 

And that’s the misfortune surrounding their relationship…nothing is _never_ as it seems. 

Her steps were slow and cautious, drastically lacking the confidence of a Queen and employing those of a timid, young girl instead.

Even more so when his eyes quickly snapped to hers, completely void of the softness that usually appears at her very presence. 

She paused, holding up a swift hand, a silent command for the Unsullied guards to stay behind as she bravely ventured forward alone. 

Jorah looked away, suddenly more entranced by the map before him.

And judging by the clenching of his jawline, he was not particularly thrilled to see her.

Preferring his isolated state over her conflicting one. 

He didn’t like contradictions. 

Being more of a _‘say what you mean’_ kind of man. 

Which is why she was here.

No more pretenses. 

No more hiding. 

She could feel him retreating within himself. 

Could feel him pulling away. 

And for once, that scared her more than what she was feeling. 

To see herself physically losing him. 

“We need to talk?” 

He restlessly shifted his weight from one foot, to the other. 

“Do we?”

Dany nodded, noting he still refused to look at her. 

“Jorah…please.” And she loathed the way her voice cracked. “Look at me.” 

She watched as he lifted his head, eyes looking out over the vast ocean waters, his emotions churning like some growing storm, drawing and pulling strength from the sea. 

From anywhere, but her.

With a labored breath, slowly, his cerulean eyes turned to hers. 

“There you are.” She whispers.

And for a brief moment, they were captivated by the rising tension between them. 

Like a thousand times before. 

She was being pulled in. 

Hesitantly, her hand reached out, sliding into his beard, noting that he had trimmed it down to its usual length. 

Lightly, her nails scratched through the short, ginger hairs, her violet eyes shining with a dismal regret that he found far too easy to relate too.

“Forgive me.” She started. “You must know why –”

“I know why.” 

He coldly interjected, his face harshly recoiling from her touch. 

And for a second, she looked as if he had physically struck her. 

Confounded and struggling to recover from the emotional blow.

Her eyes scan over his profile, desperate and pleading, but he sees none of it.

Instead, seeking his solace from the sea, as opposed to his Queen.

Daenerys watches as a light breeze caresses through his hair and suddenly, she’s envies the wind, for the liberties it gets to so freely indulge in, for the way he welcomes its touch.

“Then tell me?” 

She was trying to remain calm, but the despondency in her tone gives her away. 

Jorah rubbed his hand roughly over his face, as if trying to erase what he was feeling. 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“It does to me.” She countered a little too quickly.

And it was that unplanned confession that draws him back to her, eyes searching, as hers appeal for him to hear her out. 

He takes a deep breath and sighs. 

“You panicked.” He stated flatly. “Tyrion put you on the spot and you panicked.” 

She moved closer to him, their shoulders brushing against one another. 

Forgetting propriety, as well as the audience of unsullied behind them. 

It was far too easy to imagine how their scene looked to an outsider. 

A lover’s spat.

The aftermath of a heated quarrel. 

And the impetuosity behind a Queen attempting to assuage the blunder that had caused it.

“I don’t want them to use you against me.” She whispered. “Please don’t give them cause too.” 

“I see. You’re here to end it?”

“No, I’m here to fix it.” 

Jorah nodded.

“Truth now.” His eyes pierce hers and suddenly, she forgets to breathe. “The answer you gave Tyrion…was it a lie?” 

Her brows creased together dramatically, and he could see the onset of a war beginning to wage.

“Do you truly feel nothing for me?” 

She froze. 

Opening, then closing her mouth, gravely faltering.

Suddenly unable to find her voice. 

And she saw the recognition in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw, the disapproval in his features, the thin, stiff smile he tried to pull off but failed to complete.

Jorah’s shoulders squared back, and his chest puffed out. 

A vain attempt to prove that her lack of response didn’t break him as she originally thought it had.

And just like that, the man who infinitely loved her was gone, replaced by a Lord Commander who was pragmatic, indifferent and far too professional for her liking. 

As if whatever had transpired between them, ceased to exist. 

Pushed back and locked away with hundreds of living memories he would prefer to forget. 

“In less than twenty-four hours, we will be engaged in a war.” She wanted to laugh…ironically, the two of them had been at odds for quite some time, but nevertheless, she listened as he continued. “Their fleet will anchor in Slaver’s Bay and mount an attack from there. I imagine they are relying on the Sons of Harpy to be their foot soldiers, attacking from land. Greyworm and I have decided to keep the Unsullied behind the gates, to ensure your safety. The archers will defend the walls.” 

“And what of you?” 

“The Dothraki and the Second Sons will assemble a counterattack beyond the city gates.” 

“That’s nonsense…you will be completely exposed.”

“That’s why I need you to free your dragons.” 

“What?” She gasped. 

“The armada may be too much for Drogon to take on alone and we could use the extra defense.” 

She foolishly reached out for his arm, one last incitement to reconnect with him.

“Jorah…please.” 

But his firm tone stopped her hand short.

“Free the dragons, Your Grace.” He repeated a little too harshly, brushing past her and down the steps. 

Leaving her alone and looking like a Targaryen Queen who had just experienced her first burn from the fire.

**-x-x-x- ******

********

********

_**On top of the Walls of Meereen** _

_**4:03 am** _

The ships had been anchored just off shore for over an hour now, but they made no attempts to attack first. 

She could clearly see Ser Jorah at the front of the lines with the Dothraki. Their horses anxiously moving back and forth, ready for battle and growing weary of waiting. 

She also noticed how her General made no attempts to look back and catch her watchful eye.

It was a humid night. 

One that was less than ideal for a war. 

Daenerys’ eyes lifted up, searching the skies for Drogon, but he has yet to show up, causing a foreign fear to rise up in her throat. 

In the distance, they could easily see an army on foot, wise masters in gold masks that glinted in the moonlight, staring ominously at them.

But they made no move to engage, clearly awaiting a sign from the ships anchored out.

Tyrion peered out over the walls of Meereen. 

“It’s eerily quiet, isn’t it?” He gives his Queen a sidelong glance. “Almost like the calm before the storm.”

“A storm of your own making.” She coldly berates. 

“Well, not entirely…” 

Her eyes dangerously jerk to his and the rest of his sentence hangs unfinished in the air.

“How’s your nose?” She inquires. 

Clearly taking pleasure in the reminder, as Varys stifles a laugh.

The dwarf’s blackened eyes narrow, then winces from the pain, finding little humor in the moment. 

“Sore.” 

“Perhaps next time, that will teach you to reign in your tongue.” 

“I doubt it.” Varys idly remarks from behind.

Tyrion shoots a pointed look over his shoulder. 

“Whose side are you on anyways?” 

The Eunuch pointed at the dragon Queen. “Hers.” 

The little Lannister turned back to Daenerys, noting how she moved closer to the wall, a concerned expression on her features. 

“What are they doing?” She whispered into the night. 

Tyrion and Varys both move closer, taking in the gilded palanquin being carried across the field by four strong men, as two men on horseback flanked on either side, carrying a white flag. 

“Perhaps they want to discuss the terms of our surrender.” Tyrion suggested. “Or renegotiate our treaty.”

“Wait here.” Daenerys ordered, quickly turning to leave. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To free Viserion and Rhaegal.” 

“That could be a mistake and force their hand.” Tyrion called after her and she paused at the exit.  
“If you unleash those dragons, our enemy will surely see it as an act of aggression and war will be imminent. As of right now, they have yet to engage and I for one see that as a positive sign.” 

“War was inevitable the moment those ships dared to anchor within my harbor.” She argued. “I will no longer appease the wise masters of this city. Nor will I, for a moment longer, sacrifice my beliefs for their traditions. If war is what they want, then blood and fire is what they shall have.”

**-x-x-x-**

Jorah and Daario watched curiously as the slaves set the palanquin down midways of their position.

“What do you think their planning?” Naharis asked.

“I don’t know.” 

From a distance, they could see one slave opening the door, as two harpies emerge from its carriage, slowly walking around to the front.

One of the harpy’s, dressed in yellow robes, pointed toward the white flag, shouting. 

“Do you see…we come in peace.” Then genuinely places his hand to his heart. “Do not be afraid, Dragon Queen, we only wish to negotiate our plight.”

Jorah exchanged a solemn look with Daario, “I need you to remain back…if I fall, promise me you’ll keep her safe?” 

Daario nodded, watching as Jorah grasped his reigns tighter, refusing to meet the Tyroshi’s gaze.

“Tell her…” Mormont falters. “Tell her it was all for her.” 

Naharis smirks. “Romanticizing till the bitter end, eh, Jorah the Andal?” 

He smiled faintly, his eyes scanning through the front lines, seeking out his Dothraki commanders and giving them a slight nod.

Both nudged their horses forward, following their General’s black horse in a slow, even gallop. 

As they approached, Jorah instantly recognized one of the slaves. 

A gladiator from the small pits. 

The very one who just so happened to be smashing another gladiator’s head in with a rock, when Jorah emerged from the tunnels, catching him unawares with a swift kick to his jaw and a back hand to the cheek. 

And judging by the murderous glare he was now directing at Jorah, he’s certain the man remembered the encounter just as vividly.

They halted their horse’s mere feet from the harpy commanders, both sides sizing the other up. 

“You wish to negotiate terms,” Jorah stated impatiently. “Then start negotiating.” 

The one dressed in yellow robes, tilted his head and moved closer, causing Jorah’s horse to cautiously take a few steps back. 

“Tell me, does the Queen still long to return to her homeland?”

Jorah’s forehead furrowed, but remained silent, as the masked man continued.

“The Red Priests speak of her aspirations to conquer not only Westeros, but the world. A true sign of madness, no doubt.” 

Jorah’s nostrils began to flare, his jaw clenching. “And enslaving men is not?” 

The harpy laughed. “You think yourself free? Why, you yourself are a slave, Jorah the Andal.” 

Jorah’s eyes widened, the aim of his accusation hitting far too close to home. 

“Yes, I know all too well who you are. You’re the man behind the Dragon Queen’s ambitions.” The Harpy leader moved dangerously close to Jorah’s horse. “You hold many positions for our little Targaryen whore, a long list of servitude,” He paused. “…even the ones that extend directly to her bed, if rumors serve true.” 

“Let me cut his foul tongue from his mouth.” Vhaeqo snarled in Dothraki, reaching for his arakh. 

His Lord Commander held up a swift hand, staving off the threat. 

_For now._

Jorah’s expression remained neutral. 

“Your information is false.” 

“Well, little birds do tend to exaggerate, I must admit. But not so much while being tortured.” 

“What are your terms?” 

“Simple. We only wish to help the Dragon Queen on her way. After all, Westeros does anxiously await her return, or so the stories say.” 

“And if she doesn’t leave?” 

“Then she will surely regret staying.” 

Jorah gravely eyed the Harpy. “Do you surrender?” 

Despite his golden mask, Jorah could easily imagine the man making a satire face. 

“I’m afraid you’re not following –”

“Aye, I understand all too well. It is you that seems to be at a loss.” Jorah countered. “So, I will ask one last time – do you surrender?” 

“Never.” 

“Then it is you, who will regret staying.” 

The harpy let out a derisive laugh, walking so close to Jorah’s horse, that he quickly reached for his sword, pulling it from its sheath. 

“No need for that, Jorah the Andal.” He held out his empty hands, pulling up his oversized sleeves as evidence. “See, I have no weapon to combat you with, merely words.” 

“I think we’re done here.” 

“Oh no, Jorah the Andal,” The Harpy said. “I’m afraid our time together has just begun.” 

It happened far too quick. 

His reigns being pulled tight. 

His horse neighing loudly in pain. 

A haunting sound he’ll never forget. 

His stallion’s knees buckling under its weight, the sound of arakhs being drawn, along with the Dothraki screams as they were pulled from their horses by the slaves in front of them. 

The sound of metal hitting bone and red liquid pouring to the ground, as the screams all but ceased in the night, only to be replaced with a gurgling noise. 

Jorah hit the ground hard, the force knocking his sword from his hand, sending his weapon scattering across the ground. 

He groaned from the impact but pushed down the pain. 

With his senses heightened and adrenaline pumping, along with a persistent gut feeling that was screaming for him to get up. 

He twisted to the side and spotted his sword lying a few feet away in the dirt. 

Jorah frantically tried to scramble to reach it, only to discover his leg was caught under his horse’s dead body, a large knife protruding from the animal’s chest and a maniacal smile on the gladiator’s face he neglected to watch. 

There was no Dothraki screams, no Dragon cries, no flaming arrows to rescue him.

He was on his own and severely outnumbered. 

Trapped an unable to free himself. 

He watched in horror as their leader leaned down, mere inches from his face. 

“You see, I plan on making that foreign bitch regret coming here by killing you.”

He reached down for the knife in his boot, firmly grasping the handle and swiftly making contact with the Harpy’s throat, watching as the man’s hands urgently flew to cover the wound, trying to stop the blood that was now spewing from his throat. 

Jorah desperately began pushing his foot against his saddle in a vain attempt to free his other leg, only to have his body hastily jerked out from underneath the horse’s body, as the gladiator behind him, wrapped a noose around his neck, his body dragging over the white flag that the horsemen previously flew in the air. 

And now, the horse he was attached too, was currently in full gallop back toward enemy lines. 

He knew it would be a slow death.

And he could feel his lungs already fighting to breath. 

The rope constricting like a vice around his neck. 

His fingers barely managed to dig in between the rope and his skin, before a dark shadow flew overhead, and a large screech echoed across the night sky. 

Clearly a warning for the rider to stop.

A caution that was ignored by the Harpy soldier dragging Ser Jorah across the battlefield. 

Not until he felt the ground actually shake beneath his body, as the rider came to an abrupt stop. 

Jorah gasped and coughed uncontrollably, but managed to tug and pull the rope loose, freeing himself, as he crawled and half ran, only to keep stumbling to the ground.

When he finally managed to look up, he could see Drogon growling and showing his teeth at the rider, as if daring the man to make a move.

His wings stretched out wide and his snout grew closer to the soldier, his nostrils flaring in anger, as his amber eyes moved to Jorah still coughing, desperate for air and grasping at his throat. 

Then fiercely turned back toward the Harpy, letting out an ungodly roar that sounded otherworldly, causing the soldier’s horse to rear up in fear, throwing its rider from its back. 

Foolishly, the lone Harpy began backing away from Drogon, the desperation of his movements kicking sand and dust all about the field. 

But the dragon merely continued stalking his prey, his winged arms slowly moving his massive body forward. 

Jorah watched as Drogon’s clawed hand reached out and pressed firmly down upon the Harpy’s chest, the pressure instantly stopping all movements. 

And with one final roar, he pushed down, the sound of crushing bones deafening.

Jorah looked up, seeing flaming projectiles lighting up the night sky. The countless ships in Slaver’s bay, alighting with single balls of fire, as more trebuchets were armed and ready to disperse its artillery. 

The battle cries of thousands of men drew his attention to the Harpy forces that were now running towards them, weapons drawn, and gold masks frozen in sinister expressions.

Once again, he tried to stand, but weakly fell to his knees. 

His hand quickly raced to his side, grasping for his sword, only to remember he dropped it when his horse fell. 

Drogon moved closer to him, purring deeply, almost guttural. 

“Go!” Jorah shouted, as the dragon’s black snout pushed against his shoulder, nudging for him to get up. “They’ll kill you, Drogon. Go now!” 

The dragon shook his head, like a dog shaking water from his fur and moved his towering body in front of his, unfurling his wings wide enough to cover Ser Jorah, then opened his mouth, unleashing an elongated breath of fire across the battlefield. 

Simultaneously, burning most of the Sons of Harpies alive, as the Dothraki screamers arakhs clashed with the rest and them. 

Drogon turned back around, his amber eyes peering into Jorah’s one last time, as if unsure to leave him. 

“You need to go… your mother needs you.” 

And with one swoop of his colossal wings and a gentle push of his giant feet, Drogon was up in the air, flying toward the Gates of Meereen.

Over the ocean, Jorah could hear Rhaegal and Viserion screeching through the sky, breathing fire upon the fleet of ships anchored out in Slaver’s Bay, their sails and masts quickly catching fire, turning the wooden vessels into nothing more than kindling.

Beside him, his long, lost sword carelessly landed in the dirt. 

As his eyes scanned up the length of the horse, only to see Daario Naharis, amusingly staring down at him. 

“Care to join the fight now, Jorah the Andal? Or do you prefer being drug around on your ass all night long?”

**-x-x-x-**

The battle had ended hours ago with the surrender of their enemies and the ships that remained unburnt, have been confiscated and are now serving as part of Daenerys’ fleet.

It took a lot of inquiring around, since no one seemed to know Ser Jorah’s exact whereabouts. 

Until Daario finally told her that he was in the infirmary, causing her to half walk, half sprint to his location, as the sellsword curiously watched on.

Daenerys quietly opens the door, only to pause at the scene before her. 

He was sitting on the edge of the table.

But he wasn’t alone.

 _Jeshi_ was there. 

Touching him. 

Being familiar with him in ways that she had no right to be. 

Especially since he was completely unclothed from the waist up.

She tried not to envy the girl. 

Truly, she did. 

But the sight caused a sinking feeling in her gut. 

A feeling she wasn’t accustomed too. 

Nor could she quite place. 

At least, not completely. 

She watched as Jeshi’s eyes met hers. 

Then the Dothraki beauty exchanged a knowing look with Jorah. 

A look that told him exactly just _whom_ had entered the infirmary. 

Dany overhears the girl asks in Dothraki if he wants a moment alone, and her heart briefly pauses at the delayed response he gives in return. 

Clearly, he was still angry with her. 

No, he was hurt. 

And had every right to be. 

Truth be told.

He served a coward. 

One that could wage political wars, conquer cities and ride dragons, but she’d be damned if she could understand the workings of her own heart. 

Jeshi walked past her, but not before casting a warning glance in her direction. 

One that Dany nonchalantly ignored. 

The girl couldn’t possibly be a threat. 

Merely another casualty of unrequited love. 

As she moved closer, she took in his battered body.

The bruises on his back. 

The red, irritated rope burns around his neck. 

The bleeding wound running down his left arm – the one Jeshi was attending too, when she interrupted them.

“You’re hurt?” 

And suddenly, she feels ridiculous for stating the obvious.

“Only my pride.” Jorah teases.

Causing the mood to lighten and the tension between them to loosen its grip. 

Jorah glances in her direction and smiles weakly. 

“Thank you, Khaleesi.” 

And he can tell by her bewildered expression that she’s not following his line of gratitude. 

“For sending Drogon to save me.” 

The crease in her forehead deepened. 

“I didn’t command him to do that. He went to you of his own accord and only came to me afterwards.”

It was Jorah’s turn to be baffled. 

“But I don’t understand…He’s your dragon.” 

Dany shrugged. “Maybe he sensed that I was safe and felt my distress over the fact that you were not. Then again,” His Queen boldly steps between his legs. “Perhaps my children like you more than I anticipated.” 

And without thinking, she runs her fingers through his bangs, brushing them back and off his forehead. 

Her face turns serious, more sober.

And her eyes map out his entire face, as if committing every crease, every line to memory. 

When her violet pupils finally meet his, she all but stares, bewitching him completely.

His lips slightly part and her observant eyes instantly catches the motion. 

Slowly, the space between them begins to close, as she stands up on her tiptoes, pulling him to her at an agonizingly, leisured pace. 

And then stops.

A mere breath from his lips.

Watching. 

Patiently waiting. 

Searching his eyes for something. 

Perhaps forgiveness. 

Or possibly a new beginning. 

Whatever her intent. 

She was sorely tempting his resolve. 

But neither one takes the initiative to complete the act. 

Both stubborn till the end. 

Standing their grounds.

Fighting back the impulse that always seems to pull them toward one another.

Much like how the moon’s spell seduces the ocean tides.

So, she foregoes his lips, as hers begin lightly grazing up his jawline. 

Peppering, small, leisure kisses up to his ear.

Then stops and whispers, with a faint hint of sadness. 

And a deep sense of regret. 

“You almost died.” 

“Aye.” 

She leans back, catches his eye. 

“Don’t do it again.” 

“Yes, Khaleesi.”


	14. The Contrast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Battle of Meereen over, Dany resumes Jorah's nightly visits, but this particular night doesn't go quite as she planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. 
> 
> The other chapters are done. Kind of. 
> 
> I need to revise them and after tomorrow, I will have the time to do that and get them ready for upload. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's short, but it's a doozy and most definitely strong enough to stand alone. It was originally longer, but I decided to save the rest for the next chapter.

Jorah entered her quarters silently, almost dreading the encounter. 

Ever since they journeyed past the edge of friendship and into a more physical role, she seemed more apathetic, resistant and indifferent to any and all of his attempts at letting him in. 

So much so, that he preferred the state of their relationship prior to their consummation. 

It was much simpler then.

And she was more responsive. 

He knew the rules of the game, knew his part well, and had grown content with the repetition of always being the one who lost out. 

But now, well, he’s quite familiar with this brand of servitude - being wanted, but not loved. 

Being needed, but not appreciated. 

Being touched, but not held. 

The ritual was growing more and more tedious and if the truth be told, it reminded him a little too much of Lynesse. 

A woman he had no desire to relive his time with in any of his waking memories.

“You’re late.” 

Daenerys was warming herself by the fire, but her words came out as brutal as the biting winds of winter.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” He apologetically bowed, despite her refusal to feign an acknowledging glance in his direction. “I was with Greyworm.”

“Still teaching him the common tongue?” 

“Aye.” 

“He seems to be improving.” She noted.

“He is a dutiful student…but I think he is more apt to pay closer attention during his lessons with Missendei.” 

“As should any man be with the woman he loves.” 

It was then that she chose to turn around, their eyes locking instantly. 

“Wouldn’t you agree, Ser Jorah?” 

A slight smile formed at her lips, accompanied by a coquettish, arched brow. 

But Jorah remained silent and unmoved, regarding her cautiously, unsure if the comment was intended as an insult, or a compliment. 

But she did nothing to clarify her meaning. 

Instead, she left the warmth of the fireplace and strolled to the crystal decanter of wine. 

He watched as she poured one glass to its full, then two. 

Without a glance in his direction, she took both glasses in her hands and covered the distance to the sofa, pausing momentarily to place the drinks on the table, before sitting as eloquently as the Queen that she was. 

Her eyes moved to his, holding him stagnant and causing him to once more question the logic behind his current status.

With another lifted brow and a distinct allure in her eyes that only seemed to be reserved in secluded moments like this, she lightly pats the seat next to her, shamelessly beckoning him. 

“Come…sit with me, Ser Jorah.” 

He hesitated.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the stomach for much wine tonight, Khaleesi.”

It was a poor excuse. 

He knew it. 

And apparently, Daenerys did as well.

She narrowed her eyes, but quickly schooled the displeasure in her features. 

“The night is still young and Your Queen requires your company. I’m certain that we can forego the wine and move on to more… _pressing matters_.”

He knew this custom well. 

They’ve been down this road several times before. 

This is how it all begins. 

First, the frigid response to his presence. 

Then the warm buildup, until finally, they both burn with passion like a raging wildfire underneath the sheets. 

Afterwards, it may take a fort night before the process repeats itself, sometimes just a few days, or hours. 

No matter how long between intervals, one thing remains constant between them; the process always repeats. 

They are irreversibly drawn back to each other, like gravity.

“You’re not moving.” She notices. “Must I come and retrieve you myself?”

Gods, she could be so persuasive. 

A natural born temptress that no sane man could refuse. 

“Perhaps you could inform me of the matter that troubles you from here, Your Grace.”

“Should I make my invitation a command? Will you obey such a simple request then?”

“If my Queen demands it of me.” 

“Your Queen does.” 

Daenerys watched as her Knight looked down, contemplating, then resignedly makes his way to the sofa, choosing to sit a considerable distance from her. 

A decision that obviously irritated her, as the playful smile that had graced her lips, disappears completely. 

Jorah knew that he was treading dangerously on the threshold of waking the dragon.

Then again, she had been teetering on the brink of rousing the bear as well. 

He was finding himself more and more weary of her detached state. 

Her inability to decipher what she was feeling. 

Placating him with tiny gestures of affection, only to rip his heart out at the end.

But what do you do, when fire runs cold and turns to ice?

How do you combat it?

Do you stoke the flames, shelter it from the threatening snowstorms and blow fervently upon the ashes, encouraging it to grow, to burn for you and no other? 

Or do you stand aside and watch helplessly as it grows colder and colder with time? 

Tainted by an aging bitterness that spreads like wildfire.

All because you had neglected to do the former, in favor of the latter. 

To everyone else, she is the representation of fire. 

To him, she is both. 

Fire at night and ice throughout the day. 

She was always cold before she burned hot. 

Daenerys watched, as Jorah sat stiffly and rather objectionably, folding his hands in front of him, completely refusing to meet her inquisitive stare. 

So out of concern, she slid closer to him.

Which in turn caused her Knight to flee the sofa altogether and retreat to the safety of the fireplace across the room. 

Daenerys jumped to her feet, her face a theatre of expressions ranging from being affronted to genuinely perplexed.

“Jorah, what is the –” 

“What do you require of me, Your Grace?” He quickly interjected, immediately shutting out what little regard she has shown him since the battle.

Since she visited him in the infirmary and commanded that he never _‘almost’_ get killed again.

A pregnant silence settled over them.

And then, he could visibly see the clarity begin washing over her features. 

“I see,” she surmised. “You think I have called you here to bed me?”

He could actually feel himself blush, embarrassed by the assertion. 

But to the Queen, his reaction only confirmed the truth.

“Tell me?” She demanded. “Is this what you fear?” 

“Daenerys, I…” Jorah paused, “I made no such assumptions.” 

“No, not aloud.” She searched his eyes for confirmation. “Funny, you seemed to have no qualms about our arrangement a few nights ago.” 

Jorah winced at the accusation, but his Queen wasn’t finished. 

“Oh, if I remember correctly, you were a very willing participant.” 

“As were you.” His reply had a bit of an edge to it, a detection of resentment.

Her chin jerked up and she squared her shoulders. 

A sure sign that she was letting him know who was in control of this moment, as the show down between the two began. 

And he found himself thankful. 

Grateful that the cold, hard stare she was sending him lacked the magic to murder him all on its own. 

He roughly ran his hand over his beard and sighed audibly. 

A vast contrast to the scream he internally wanted to let loose. 

His eyes moved to the fire for a moment, hoping the lull would alleviate the truculent tension that seemed to be flooding the room. 

He’s not sure how much time passed. 

Or how long they had been standing there, enveloped by the oppressing silence. 

All he knew, was that she was closer. 

He could feel her eyes on his back, boring into his very soul. 

Could hear the short, intakes of her breath just over his right shoulder.

But neither spoke. 

Both afraid they would revisit the previous argument far too soon.

Jorah reached out, resting both hands upon the mantle of the fireplace, desperate to ground his raging emotions, as he watched the flames crack and break into the air. 

Determined to do something with his hands. 

Anything that would prevent him from reaching out for the paradox that is her.

And break this ridiculous wheel of repetition. 

The one where her love only delivers a certain ache. 

The kind where she breaks every bone, only to leave you praising her for the pain. 

But he supposes that’s what happens when you play with fire. 

Or with dragons.

And to his misfortune, she’s the dragon that lit a fire inside him that refuses to be extinguished. 

She had imprisoned his heart the moment he saw her, and he swears to the seven hells, he’s been suffering for it ever since. 

“Is this how it is with Daario?” 

His voice was low, almost pained.

But her answer lacked the balm his heart required for the occasion.

“He was far less inclined to brood over such matters, if that’s what you mean. He made no quandaries over our arrangement.” 

“That’s because he was getting something out of it.” 

“As are you.” She shot back icily, causing Jorah to violently push himself from the mantle, as he whirled around to face her. 

His eyes dark, a dangerous shade of blue. 

“Daario may have had no qualms about the understanding, but I for one am not particularly keen on playing the role of your whore.” 

It had been a slow burn for months, but now, an eruption of all his suppressed anger over her indifference was foolishly pouring out.

“If the idea offended you so much, then perhaps you should have said no!”

“I tried!” Jorah defended. “But you were quite persistent, as well as persuasive.” 

“Get out!” She screamed. “Get out right now!” 

She began walking toward the door, determined to throw him out, only to halt at his words. 

“Am I to take it that you no longer require my services, Your Grace?” 

Daenerys whirled on him, closing the distance between them as though it never existed in the first place. 

“It would do you well to remember your place, dear Ser.”

Jorah’s posture changes, and he seems wrong-footed for a moment, but recovers.

“Truth now?” Dany glared at her Knight with disapproval. “Perhaps you should clarify my place – am I your Lord Commander, your General, your advisor,” he paused a moment. “…your lover?” 

Jorah’s voice grew louder, more assertive, taking on the intonation of a man that had been the victim of her impassiveness for far too long and had resolved himself not to endure another second of it. 

“I’m afraid the lines between our relationship and my duties are beginning to blur. You see, Your Grace, you are the only living contradiction I know – I can protect you, but I cannot love you. I can fuck you, but I cannot kiss you. I’m allowed into your bed, but not your heart. You are as frigid to me as the brutal winters of the North, and I am no weak man by any means. I have adapted and survived every winter that has covered my homeland. But I swear upon everything that is good and true, only the gods know if I will ever survive you, Daenerys Stormborn.” 

She blinked, her face frozen in a mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite place. 

Her eyes fell briefly to the floor, as if mentally willing her heart to beat again. 

But it was her silence that unnerved him the most. 

Jorah instantly regretted his outburst and he moved quickly to rectify it. 

“Khaleesi, forgive me.”

But her anger gave no indication of being amended by the pangs of guilt that washed over his visage.

And somewhere in the corners of his mind, an image emerged of her sitting proudly upon Drogon’s back, as she spoke one, simple command, watching smugly as a ball of fire engulfed him. 

But a firm, hard slap to the left side of his face would be his current punishment for now. 

Leaving behind the small imprint of her fingers, a bruised ego and the echoing sound of the blow reverberating off her chamber walls. 

Followed by a detached, heartless demand that did little to hide a dragon’s unfurling wrath. 

“Get. Out.” 

In the faint distance, Jorah could hear Drogon’s cries growing closer to the pyramid, presumably sensing his mother’s distress and flying in haste to her rescue. 

He hesitated, eyes pleading for a recourse in her decision.

But his salvation would not be found tonight.

Lost somewhere in the grim oblivion of her violet eyes. 

He wanted to tell her he didn’t mean it. 

But that would be a lie. 

He meant every damn word that came out of his mouth. 

And the fact that she knew it, killed him all the more inside. 

Slowly, he resigned himself to his fate. 

There was no fixing this. 

No amount of nightshade that could erase it from her memory. 

...Or his. 

It was over. 

Perhaps it was over before it truly began. 

His eyes search hers one last time, begging. 

And he helplessly watches as she quickly turns her back to him, but not before he sees the tears she’s desperately fighting back.

And he hates himself for being the cause behind them. 

He knows she can’t see it. 

But still, he bows to his Queen before taking his leave. 

Forever loyal. 

Forever a Mormont.

And forever her Knight.

Even in times as bleak as these. 

_Especially then._


	15. Caught in the Riptide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks has passed since their altercation. And when Dany and Jorah finally come face to face with each other, she is confronted with a much different man and forced to come to terms with a reality she's been running from for far too long.

It was late.

So late, that the full moon had reached its highest peak in the sky, its light illuminating a city that had went silent hours ago. 

He had been waiting in her quarters for hours now. 

But still, no dragon Queen. 

He was certain that she wasn’t aware that he was even here. 

More than likely, she wouldn’t return at all, if she was even given the slightest warning of his presence. 

They didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. 

And their friendship, or lack thereof, has suffered ever since. 

In fact, she’s been avoiding him for quite some time now. 

Until recently, when his service by her side was required once again.

Now he spends most of his days standing by her side in the audience chamber. 

Secretly casting concerned glances at a Queen that refuses to even acknowledge the sentiment. 

It was a sad turn of events – their ending. 

Because they were good together. 

Or so he thought.

Of course, she never loved him. 

He knew that. 

Knew that she was never _in love_ with him. 

No, that was reserved for another man.

A man that is not him. 

In the distance, he can hear the faint sound of massive wings flapping through the air, growing closer to the pyramid. 

Feels the building slightly shake, as the weight of Drogon perches upon its top. 

Then stretches a winged arm forth to the balcony floor, stabilizing his massive body, as his mother safely climbs off. 

He hears the small, whisper of endearments to her child.

And suddenly, he envies the dragon.

For possessing the ability to hold a piece of her that he never will. 

And he knows. 

Truly he does. 

Of how he would be the laughing stock of her armies, as well as her council, if they knew he still held out a candle for her. 

But he’ll die with that secret. 

He watches Drogon lovingly purr into his mother’s hair, then fly off. 

He sees the small, contented smile gracing her lips as she enters her quarters and then, the way it disappears completely at the sight of him. 

And he wishes he knew the secrets to bringing it back. 

Permanently, if he could. 

But he’s not the man who holds that kind of power over her.

Nor is he the reason she’s been fleeing her city upon Drogon’s back for weeks now. 

“Daario?” The intonation is stern and unwelcoming. 

The look on her face tells him that she’s displeased.

Annoyed that her guards let him pass without her permission. 

Then again, there are perks to being part of the Queen’s council. You’re privy to information most guards are not. Information that must be delivered to their Queen. 

“I’m assuming you’re here over some urgent matter that requires my attention?” 

“I’m happy to see you as well, my Queen.” 

She gave him a dry look. 

Clearly not impressed with his humor. 

Not anymore. 

He hesitated a moment, still trying to find his place with her. 

Unsure if he still had one, even as her Captain. 

Slowly, he handed her the small missive. 

“A raven arrived earlier. It’s from Volantis.” 

Daenerys nodded, carefully taking the missive from him. 

He watched as she unrolled the parchment and read through. 

“It would appear the new government finally has a ruler…and he wishes to form an alliance.” 

“That’s good news.” 

She gave him a wary look. 

“Or not?” 

“I have no desire to negotiate such associations.” 

Daario nodded. “So, we’re moving on to Westeros then?” 

“Not yet.” 

He stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but it sounds as though you don’t have much desire for anything.” He idly pointed out, ignoring the warning look she was now shooting him. “Would this lack of ambition happen to have anything to do with Jorah the Andal?”

Daario watched her move toward the sofa nonchalantly and calmly sit, her eyes meeting his with a leveled gaze, her face void of any emotion that might betray what she was truly feeling.

“Jealousy doesn’t become you.” 

“Ah, I’m not jealous.” He moved to sit across from her. “But I am curious.”

She arched a brow.

“How much longer do you intend to punish our little Northern friend?” Her eyes darted to the floor. “He’s been on nightly patrols with Greyworm for three weeks now. Not to mention, you two seem to be avoiding each other like the plague.” 

“You wouldn’t understand.” 

“I wouldn’t understand, eh?” Daario snorted a laugh. “From the way I hear it, he was the only man with the balls to confront you with the truth.” Her eyes snapped back to his. “Ah yes, rumors travel fast, Your Grace. Although, I dare say, they’re not really rumors, are they?” 

She left his question unanswered, only to pose another. 

“You think I should end his punishment?” 

“I think he’s paid his dues.” 

“She let out a satirical laugh. “This coming from the man whom advised me to proposition him for one night.” 

“Yes! I did.” He playfully pointed an accusatory finger in her direction. “But if you remember correctly, I told you to fuck him and send him away…not to fall in love with him.” 

An influx of erotic images flashed through her mind and she sheepishly tried to hide the smile tugging at her lips. 

“I was under the impression you two didn’t like each other very much?” 

“We didn’t.” He said, as she curiously tilted her head, intrigued. “What can I say, I thought he was trying to steal my girl.” Daario shrugged, his eyes distant. “Then I realized, you can’t steal something that already belongs to you – he just doesn’t know it.” 

Again, her eyes lowered to the floor and Daario moved to recapture her gaze. 

“I’m guessing he still doesn’t?”

**-x-x-x-**

Jorah was sliding his dragon vambraces upon his wrist when there was a light knock upon his door.

But not from the one he truly wanted to see. 

The Knight moved to open the door, only to be met with an empathetic look from Tyrion Lannister.

“Don’t.” Jorah cautioned.

“I haven’t even spoken yet, Mormont.” He entered the room, vaguely glancing about. “And before I knocked, I even made sure to place a sympathetic expression upon my face to show that I truly care for your plights.”

“Exactly. It’s what gave you away.” Jorah picked up his sword and began fastening it around his waist. “I know you care very little for my welfare.”

“Nonsense. I care more than you think.” 

“You must be speaking of your affection for the Queen.” 

“Well, I was, but that’s beside the point.” The dwarf ran his hands smoothly down his chest, as if admiring his fine clothes. “You must be wondering why I’m here.” 

“Aye. I know you’re not visiting out of the kindness of your heart.”

“Afraid not.” Tyrion looked up toward the taller man. “There will be no patrolling for you tonight. The Queen has requested your presence at the council meeting tomorrow afternoon.” 

Jorah regarded him cautiously. 

“I imagined you would be elated at the news, Mormont, but I must say, you look quite mortified.” 

“I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Surely you realize you can’t serve the Queen from the shadows. Besides, it took some convincing on my part to even get her to entertain the notion of bringing you back to the table.”

“So, this wasn’t her idea?”

Tyrion hesitated. “Well, not entirely.” 

The Lord Commander gave him a pointed look and reached for the poker by the fireplace, stoking the dying fire back to life. 

“But she did come to see the need for your council.” The little Lannister paused, unsure if it was wise to speak aloud the next part. “The Queen can be…unpredictable at times, even reckless. But I have discovered that she is more manageable whenever you’re giving her counsel.” 

Jorah’s hand slowed considerably at stoking the fire, turning over his shoulder to look at the little Lannister. 

“What do you mean?” 

“As Hand of the Queen, it is my duty to be observant to everyone that is close to the Queen…the magnitude of their influences upon her, as well as her response to those influences. I’ve perceived a lot since your absence from her circle. More has become clear over the past few weeks, than during my entire tenure into her service.” 

Suddenly losing interest in the conversation, the Knight turned his attention back to the fire.

“You can stop right there.” Jorah shoved the poker a little too fiercely into the fire. “I already know where this conversation is heading.” 

Tyrion gave him a droll look. “Do you now?”

“Aye, I do.” He stood abruptly, but continued to focus on the fire, his frown deepening. “And I can assure you that your concern is unfounded. The Queen feels nothing for me, so this speech about how unfit of a consort I am can be saved for another suitor.”

Tyrion smiled. “Am I that predictable?”

Jorah merely nodded.

“I see, maybe this revelation will be less foreseeable.” Tyrion walked closer to the fireplace, it’s massive hearth only emphasizing his small stature. 

“Since your little spat, our Queen has become less captivated by her role.” He ventured a side glance in the Knight’s direction, noting his impassive face. 

“With late night rides on Drogon, completely out in the open and unguarded. She’s been losing her patience with almost every Meereenese that visits the audience chamber and her behavior is just as deplorable in the council room. Yunkai, Astapor and Volantis have elected new rulers, one of which is reaching out for an alliance and yet, she shows little concern for the matter. She just sits silent, staring off into oblivion, while her advisors discuss foreign matters. And Westeros is within our reach, yet she lacks the desire to move across the Narrow Sea. The only one she speaks to is Missendei and yet, I am her Hand.” Tyrion sighed. “In order to do my job effectively, I need her to communicate with me. And if I wish to save her from becoming known as the mute Queen, then I must first arrange communications between you two and then the rest will follow. Do you not see my dilemma?”

The Knight shrugged. “Perhaps she is just tired of ruling.”

“Or perhaps she just misses you.” 

Jorah snorted a laugh. “That’s unlikely.”

“Look Mormont, I like you…I truly do. During our journeys together, I’ve grown to respect you greatly, in spite of your deplorable abilities to make friends.” 

“But?” Jorah interjected, knowing there was more to the dwarf’s argument.

“ _But_ , do not take my generosity for granted. I may have convinced our Queen to return you to the fold, but those terms do not include her bed.” 

The Lord Commander just stared blankly at him and then carelessly tossed the poker aside, his shoulders squared back. 

“Careful now.’ Jorah warned. 

“These are stipulations you already know, Mormont.” Tyrion reminded sympathetically. “Put in place long before our time. It is an unfortunate truth, but a necessary one. You cannot be selfish with her. She doesn’t belong to you…she belongs to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jorah’s eyes turned dark and it was clear that he was holding a barely contained rage. 

And then it was gone.

Just as quickly as it had come. 

Tyrion cautiously watched as the Knight let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat, as he turned his attention back toward the fire. 

“You can rest easy.” Jorah says, reclaiming the forgotten poker and roughly stabbing it into the fire. “It’s over.” 

“Oh, I see.” And he loathed the relief he saw shining in the dwarf’s eyes. “Then I trust that I can inform the Queen of your presence tomorrow during the Council meeting?”

Jorah hesitated, then acquiesced. 

Tyrion began walking toward the door, pulling the lever and pausing briefly in the doorway, but not daring to look back. 

“The Queen thanks you for your service, Mormont.” 

Of course, Jorah knew what his little pun meant – _Your time with the Queen has ended, now stay away._

**-x-x-x-**

“Please leave.” Daenerys ordered her council. 

Jorah immediately headed for the exit, his stride purposeful and impatient, as if desperate to be out from under the weight of her presence. 

“Not you, Jorah.” 

And she ignored the blatant looks coming from Tyrion and Varys, both hesitating until her eyes snapped to theirs, daring them to voice their adverse reasons out loud.

Her Lord Commander’s steps paused, his body wavering by the door, blue eyes fixed to his salvation.

So close, yet so far. 

Funny how things have changed. 

He used to be content just to be included in her circle. 

Satisfied with the nearness of her. 

Now he was just as determined to break the hold. 

To bury such silly notions.

Along with his love for her. 

To cut free from the web she had so intricately weaved about his heart.

It would appear, their roles have been reversed. 

A fire raged within her, blazing a path through her very bones. 

And yet, he remained as true to his northern roots as ever before. 

Cold and distant. 

Much like the way he was looking at her now. 

With his face unreadable.

And his heart unreachable. 

At least to her.

And she can’t recall a time where she never felt more alone. 

Desolate and barren like the Red Waste. 

With no place to seek solace. 

She could see his forehead furrow, the weight of his body shifting, growing impatient with the expanding silence. 

With her inability to voice why she needed him here. 

Truth be told, she just wanted a moment alone with him. 

To bask in his presence. 

To be near him. 

To remember what it was like to have him. 

To be enticed once again, with the fantasy of a normal life. 

One void of politics, war and monarchs all fighting for their place in this world. 

He was the only man that drove her to the brink. 

_The only one._

Who could make her question it all?

She panicked, as he grew even more restless and abruptly turned to leave. 

“Jorah…” She eagerly blurted out. “I’m sorry.” 

The apology managed to stop his retreat, but it failed to remove the coldness from his eyes. 

He tilted his head slightly and with narrowed eyes, stared. 

As if offended that it took her so long to see the error of her ways. 

And she wanted to tell him why. 

Tell him that it was her Targaryen pride that was to blame. 

Arrogance and ignorance. 

A deadly combination that brought them to such a defining impasse. 

But her rare show of humility didn’t appear to be enough. 

“Is this the part where you’re expecting me to apologize in return?” 

Gods, his voice sounded so detached. 

So… _icy._

And she hated the way his curt reply caught her off-guard. 

How it caused her heart to fall to the pit of her stomach like a lone rock sinking to the bottom of the sea.

With eyes wide and mouth gaping like some besotted fool. 

She quickly looked down, frowning. 

“I suppose I deserved that.” 

His jaw clenched, as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it. 

“Will that be all, Your Grace?” 

Her eyes snapped back to his, alarmed by the neutrality in his voice. 

“I was hoping that we could discuss a few issues.” 

“About?” 

She stared at him in disbelief. 

“About us.” 

“There is no us, Your Grace. You saw to that.” 

His apathetic remark cut deep. 

Hurting her more than she anticipated.

Leaving her to wonder if the length of time she had waited to reach out to him was a colossal mistake. 

“Jorah,” She whispered, her voice desperate and beseeching. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you. Truly I am.” 

His eyes searched hers and for a moment, the ice melted under the empathy of her gaze. 

But he also appeared to be waiting for more. 

Anticipating more. 

Willing it to come forth with the simple lure of his eyes. 

Instead, he was met with a frigid, oppressing silence that filled the room, snubbing out the last ember of hope he possessed, as the words he wanted to hear never came forth. 

And she watched helplessly, as the ice creeped in and reclaimed him all over again. 

“How do you do it?” 

Daenerys was taken back by his question, confounded. “Do what?” 

“Ignore it all?” 

His hand left the pommel of his sword, gesturing between the two of them. 

_“This._ ” Jorah growled. 

As if their relationship was still void of that one word that could define it all. 

“I’m afraid that I don’t understand.” She deflected. 

And the twitch of his lip told her he knew exactly what she was doing. 

She could give him the sincerities of her apology, but not her love. 

“I think you do.” He countered.

“I haven’t the faintest clue.” 

“Of knowing your own heart?” Jorah shot back. “Well, of that I’m inclined to agree.” 

Her eyes narrowed, clearly affronted by the accusation. 

“What do you want from me?” She yelled impatiently.

“For you to be honest with yourself and admit it!” He passionately protested. “Just once,” His voice grew softer, more resolved. “…I think I deserve that much.” 

Immediately, their eyes turned toward the heavy knock on the door, as Tyrion urgently walked in. 

“Get out!” They shouted in unison.

Causing the dwarf to slightly jump back, alarmed. 

“I would just like to point out that voices do tend to carry. Particularly when you choose to raise them.” His eyes accusingly darted between the two. _“Loudly.”_

Daenerys shifted uncomfortably and Jorah continued to glare at the dwarf, as if contemplating his murder and how he could possibly make it seem like an accident. 

But the little Lannister remained undaunted, as his hand smoothed over his fine clothes. 

“Now, normally I would say it’s time to kiss and make up but given the circumstances and the weak nature of my stomach, I think it’s safe to deem that course of action unwise…not to mention rather disturbing.” 

Jorah violently moved closer to Tyrion and his hands swiftly moved up to cover his nose. 

“Ah, to seven hells with it all.” The Knight mumbled with a dismissive wave of his hand as he urgently stalked out of the council room without a single glance back. 

“I believe the correct response would be _thank you_ , Mormont.” Tyrion called over his shoulder. 

He turned back to find the Queen’s eyes disturbingly fixed on him. 

And with a disgusted shake of her head, she quickly brushed past him. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.” The dwarf warned, as he walked toward the decanter of wine sitting in the middle of the council table. 

His Queen fiercely whirled around. “Do what?” 

Tyrion casually pulled the crystal top off the decanter, slowly pouring his wine, before his eyes turned up to hers. 

“Go after, Mormont.” 

“I wasn’t.” 

She received a dubious look from her Hand.

“Oh really?” His tone filled with speculation. “You do realize that part of my job is to analyze every situation?” 

Daenerys remained silent, her eyes suddenly fixated to some unknown object.

The dwarf studied her over the brim of his cup. 

“You thought I didn’t know…that I wouldn’t guess?” 

She discreetly cast a guilty look in his direction, then just as quickly looked away. 

“It would appear that our Queen has been compromised.” 

“I can handle it.” 

Tyrion rolled his eyes, snorting a laugh. “And you’re doing a _fine_ job of it too.” 

“I’m not in the mood for your snide remarks.” 

“Pity. I’m afraid that’s all I have.”

Daenerys sighed and walked toward the council table, ungracefully plopping down in the chair across from her Hand. 

After a moment, her eyes imploringly sought his. 

“What am I to do?” 

He had never heard defeat in her voice before. 

Not until now. 

Not until Mormont had put it there. 

“Perhaps you should try coming to terms with the issue itself… and then never revisit the matter again.”

“I’m not quite sure I care for your advice on relationships.” 

“I didn’t particularly think that you would, but nevertheless, you did ask, Your Grace.”

“I know…just wasn’t very fond of your response.” 

Tyrion nodded, then sympathetically caught her eye, his small hand grasping hers from across the table and lightly squeezing.

“You do realize that nothing can ever become of it? You can never be together and expect the High Lords of Westeros to take you seriously.” 

He only wanted her to heed his caution. 

To learn from his past mistakes.

That not everyone is predestined to love.

But it was the tears in her eyes that he wasn’t quite prepared for. 

Along with the realization that she truly loved the man in question. 

With just as much ardency as he loved Shay. 

And it was that invocation that had him almost advising her to the contrary. 

To throw caution to the wind. 

To hell with the opinions of noblemen and their piety. 

“I’m in love with him.” She softly whispered, self-deprecation in every word. 

And he wanted so badly to tell her. 

To not wait as he did. 

To grasp this rare gift of happiness and never let it go. 

But he was here to advise the Queen and not the woman. 

Tyrion smiled sadly. “And that must be your tragedy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie, at first, I wasn't too sure about this chapter. In fact, one scene between Jorah and Daario caught the chopping block and was completely rewritten, hence the new beginning scene between Dany and Daario instead. 
> 
> The beginning of this chapter is solely written to throw all of you guys off. Yes, I'm evil like that. Don't lie, you all thought it was Jorah waiting for our Queen when she was off with Drogon. 
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter will be out soon. It is written, but it doesn't quite reach my standards yet. So, I'm gonna fiddle around with it for a few days and see if I can't get it up to par. I guess then we'll see which part of Tyrion's advice Dany decides to take - come to terms with it and forget? 
> 
> Or...just come to terms with it and to hell with all the forgetting.


	16. Patience is a Virtue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys needs to get something off her chest.

The fire was roaring in the hearth, as Jorah sat in a simple wooden chair, reading. 

He wasn’t sure of the hour. 

Nor with the amount of time he’s been staring blankly at the pages before him.

Trying desperately to turn his thoughts from her. 

But his attempts were futile. 

And the Queen he tried to forget, was still an unwelcome muse, dominating every corner of his mind.

He didn’t desire sleep. 

In fact, he despised the very thought of it. 

Because with sleep, came the possibility of dreaming of her.

And he would rather spend the rest of his life awake, than risk an unbidden visit from her. 

His head turned toward the light knock on his door.

Even more inclined to ignore it, as he rolled his eyes at the untimely intrusion.

He honestly couldn’t take another disparaging look from Varys.

Another deprecating warning from Tyrion.

Or another counterfeit truth from Daenerys. 

So, he remained silent, hoping that whomever sat on the opposite side of his door would give up and go away. 

Leaving him to his solitude.

Which is exactly what he preferred right now. 

To be alone. 

With his thoughts and a damn book that was doing very little in drowning her out. 

But the knocks on his door became more insistent. 

More demanding. 

Yet, he refused to move from his position by the fire. 

Besides, he wasn’t quite dressed in a manner that was particularly welcoming.

His boots were long forgotten, and his kilt was offhandedly thrown over the opposite chair, leaving him in nothing but his black breeches, as his grey tunic hung carelessly open to the night air. Not to mention the dreadful condition of his hair, clearly the byproduct of his restless fingers running through it far too many times.

A sure sign of a troubled state.

The mirrored image of a broken man. 

Whose heart had endured far too many defeats in his lifetime. 

So, you could imagine his surprise, when the urgent knocks ceased, and his door briskly opened to reveal his Queen.

Their eyes instantly locking. 

Hers, a mixture of panic and desperation. 

His, indifferent and slightly annoyed. 

More irritated at himself for neglecting to bar the damn thing closed, therefore effectively locking her out of his domain.

He didn’t want her here. 

His heart couldn’t stand another bout with her. 

Not this soon.

And then, he saw it. 

Saw how her eyes briefly lowered, taking in his disheveled appearance. 

How the perusal of her eyes lingered, unable to reach their fill. 

But he refused to be affected by it. 

As he nonchalantly turned his head back to his book, suddenly captivated by pages that were previously unfit for his attention. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

His voice sounded cold, even to him.

But the only rebuff that came, was the sound of her shutting and bolting the door. 

He waited for her to speak. 

To say her peace. 

To explain why she was here at such a late hour. 

And then leave him be. 

Instead, a deafening silence entered the room and succeeded in luring his traitorous eyes back to her.

Her back was to him, as both hands were firmly planted flat against the door, with head bowed low, as if thankful to be shutting out the world. 

“ _Please_ ,” Daenerys begs. “Please don’t ask me to leave.” 

His heart sank at the mere sound of her vulnerability.

At the way her voice cracked under the weight of it. 

And he wanted nothing more than to be whatever she required of him in that moment.

But he couldn’t.

Not now. 

Not ever. 

Not in this lifetime.

Not while she was still destined for the Iron Throne.

He watched, as she slowly turns to face him, emotionally preparing herself for his indifference. 

For him to rightly shut her down and throw her out.

But the negation never comes. 

Instead, she’s met with blue eyes, simply staring.

His expression blank and unreadable.

And for a moment, their eyes remain fixed on one another. 

Both searching for a common ground. 

Begging for a truce to a war neither had the inclination to continue fighting.

“I can’t,” Daenerys says, “…I can’t do this anymore.” 

Jorah looks down, closes his book and shifts uncomfortably in his chair, unsure if this is a conversation he wants to have again. 

But the urgency of her explanation doesn’t stop there. 

“I can’t do this to _you_ anymore.” She clarifies. “I have tried so hard not to care, that I had almost convinced myself that I didn’t.” 

Jorah’s eyes snap back to hers. 

_“Almost.”_ His Queen emphasizes.

And she sees the wheels turning in his mind. 

Sees him processing her words.

The spark of hope alighting in his eyes, but still hesitant to burn.

She hears the perplexed, yet endearing _Khaleesi_ that leaves his lips.

And she knows he’s not following. 

Doesn’t quite get what she’s trying to say.

Of course, he wouldn’t.

He’s always loved her from a distance. 

From the position she assigned him to. 

From the shadows of her own heart. 

Always out, but never in.

And sadly, he had grown accustom to his fate. 

To being the one she never chose.

No matter how devoted he had proven himself to be.

It had never seemed good enough.

And she despised the disservice behind it all.

The fact that she was the very cause of it.

That she could be so blind. 

So blatantly ignorant to what he had been selflessly offering her for so long.

While other suitors fought and viciously clawed to the front of the line. 

He patiently waited at the end. 

Biding his time, until her heart had reached the pentacle of adolescence. 

A state where she could distinguish what true love is.

And what it is not.

He was the prime example her heart craved to discern. 

If anything can be accredited to him as her mentor – it would be his lesson in love. 

Not her rise in status.

Nor the miracle of her dragons.

Or her acclaimed armies. 

But the woman she becomes when she’s with him.

And the Queen she is because of him.

He has inadvertently become the core of who she is.

The suspect of all things that surround her. 

“Gods,” She shakes her head in disbelief. “… I have been such a coward.”

He doesn’t dispute it. 

Doesn’t comfort her with words of endearment.

In fact, her Knight doesn’t say anything at all. 

Still oblivious to the epiphany taking place before him.

The awakening that had slumbered for far too long.

“I’m trying to tell you something, but –” 

He could see the conflicting feelings playing over her face, the way she held herself as her eyes briefly look past him. 

“I am failing miserably.”

So, Jorah throws her a lifeline. 

Reminding her of the arbitration they always seem to come back too.

The opinions and the injustice of a royal court that claim he’s too lowborn to have her. 

“I thought everything was settled, Khaleesi.” 

Daenerys focuses on the fire, then shakes her head sadly. 

“No, not everything.” 

Her eyes move back to his, watches as he sets the book aside and stands, waiting. 

And she desperately tries not to let her thoughts run aground. 

To go amiss.

To be side-tracked by his appearance.

But gods, his untidy state is threatening every coherent thought she has left.

“Can we start over?” She rolls her eyes at herself and sighs. “That’s not what I meant to say,” She blurts out. “Well, it is, but I wanted…No, I need to say something else first.” 

Her brows crease in desperation and suddenly, she reminds him of that scared, lonely girl he first met in Essos. 

The shy, Targaryen princess still struggling to find her place in the world.

The one who always feared waking the dragon.

But it was her next words that caught him off guard.

Coming out in a climatic flood of urgency.

Causing Jorah to question if he had heard his Queen accurately or not.

“I love you…I do.” She expresses in a hurry, as if desperate to be relieved of the burden. “I never intended to fall in love with you and I fought _so hard_ against it because I knew that if I allowed myself to love you, that one day, I would be forced to give you up and I just couldn’t bear that. I know what my council thinks of you as a suitor – I hear the whispers and I see the disapproving looks. I am well versed on how I should seek the hand of a noble King to help secure my claim to the Iron Throne. But gods help me, Jorah, I don’t want a King… I want _you_.” 

He regarded her, as a blind man, inspecting the wonders of the night sky for the first time. 

Beholding her, as if the revelation of her words had contained the beauty of the moon and stars themselves.

“Just me?” 

He needed reassurance.

But the onslaught of her confession was the force of gravity needed to pull him toward her. 

His feet moving of their own accord, unbidden and completely involuntary.

Daenerys smiled, searching his eyes, as she slowly reached her hand out, caressing his stubbled cheek.

“Just you.” She slowly leans in, lightly peppering kisses down the side of his cheek, whispering. “Forgive me.” 

Jorah moved back slightly, his eyes meeting hers. 

“There is nothing to forgive, Khaleesi.”

“You’re far too merciful, my bear… I should have been brave enough to voice it sooner.”

He pushes away a rebellious strand from her face, then leans down to place a gentle kiss to her forehead, pulling her body closer to his and holding her there.

“You had your reasons, Khaleesi.” He sighs, as if not wanting to let her go. “But for now, let me walk you back to your quarters. The hour is late, and your presence here will only lead to more talk.” 

Her head tilts back, with upturned lips and her eyes containers of amusement.

“We’re already the topic of most gossip. Perhaps we should give them a broader subject.”

Ignoring the temptation of her statement, he brushes past her toward the door, only to be stopped by her hand upon his arm. 

When he looks over his shoulder at her, she could visibly see the question in his eyes, though he never voiced it.

And she wanted nothing more than to make him see the answers as clearly as she did.

“What if,” Daenerys began. “…what if we just stay here?” 

Jorah started to protest, but she quickly placed a finger to his lips, ceasing all arguments.

“For one night, let’s just forget the world.” Her brows creased deeply, her face a theatre of expressions all aimed to persuade him to her cause. “Let’s forget this game of thrones we’re embattled in. For one night, there’s nothing separating us. No crown, no rules, no distinction to keep us apart. Tonight, we’re just – _us_. For one night…please, let me love you without the echoes of my council shouting in my ear of how wrong it is.”

She watched as he stared back. 

Curious as to why he wasn’t moving more in her direction. 

For all intent and purposes, he remained stagnant.

As if his feet had been permanently cemented to the floor. 

His silence being the onset of panic rising up and sticking in her throat.

“Say something, Jorah?”

Within milliseconds, his lips were crushing against hers with so much force, her body inadvertently takes a few steps back, wrapping her hands around his neck, fingers grasping his hair and desperately pulling him with her. 

His mouth slants and his tongue slides in, exploring.

Tasting.

Drinking her in.

A primal groan rises from the back of Daenerys throat and Jorah knows he’s on the right path to pleasing her. 

His hands move down her body, circling to the back, gripping her buttocks and pulling. 

She instantly recognizes the silent gesture and jumps, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. 

Both grunting when her aim hits just the right spot and she begins rolling her hips over his erection. 

Needing more friction, Jorah backs her to the wall, its cold surface going unnoticed, as he grinds hard into her.

The action causes Daenerys head to slowly roll back, resting against the stone wall, as a loud, satisfied moan escapes her lips, leaving the kiss broken altogether. 

Jorah merely takes advantage of her exposed neck, his lips burning a path down to her collar bone.

One hand gently leaves her hip and slides up to her left shoulder, grabbing the thin strap there and pulling it lower, revealing more of her skin to his ministrations. 

Daenerys locks her feet tightly around his waist, but Jorah’s body has her so expertly pinned to the wall, that she has no fears of falling.

She closes her eyes, as his other hand moves up, removing the other strap down her right arm as her gown slides down to her waist, trapped between their bodies. 

His lips slowly make their way down to her breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth, lightly biting, then soothing it with his tongue, circling the area. 

A smug grin forms on his lips as Daenerys’ breath hitches, coming out in tiny gasps as her pleasure continues to build.

She leans down, placing kisses wherever she can reach…into his hair, his forehead, his temple, before whispering the sentiment with such a wanton conviction, that even her lover pauses for a moment, allowing the disclosure to wash over him.

“Gods….” She breathes. “Want. You…. _so baaaaad_.”

Truth be told, there has been a storm raging inside her since that night in Quarth, when he clearly got too caught up in his declaration and bore too much of his heart to her. 

She knew he loved her then.

And the undercurrent for this storm has been forming ever since, building and rising, and this…this moment with him right now was her belated release. 

A liberation from all the past times she had imagined letting go – of loving him, of just being with him. 

Only to be the dutiful Queen, forsaking love and ultimately disciplining the impulsion to the back of her mind. 

But tonight, both, the woman and the Queen are choosing love – duty be damned.

Jorah’s head lifts and his eyes slowly lock with hers and he can see it. 

She desired him in the bluntest of ways. 

To taste every part of him – mind, body and soul. 

She wanted to bridge the gulf that had kept them apart for far too long. 

To pull him to her, the way the moon’s gravity entices the ocean waves. 

And make love to him the way the sun’s beams caress the Earth, lighting up the darkest of places.

His hand caresses her cheek, as the other cradles the back of her head, his lips meeting hers in a hard, passionate kiss. 

Her mouth opens willingly, though she doesn’t remember commanding it too.

She begins to writhe against him in the most alluring way, sliding up and down the length of his hardness, as if physically showing him what she needs the most from him. 

Overwhelmed, Jorah breaks the kiss and grunts a colorful expletive. 

_“Fuck!”_ He breathes. 

And she can’t help but giggle at his impatience. 

“Such language, my bear.” 

He gives her a pointed look and her response is one of pure innocence. 

Until she voices her desires aloud. 

“I want to make love to you, Jorah.” 

She reclaims his lips.

Slow and sensual.

“Please, let me.” Dany pleads. “Let me ride you.”

Jorah’s mouth falls open, and his brows shoot up, whether it be from shock or from raw desire, she’s not quite sure. 

Possibly both. 

Oh yes, it was definitely both when she took a liberty and emphasized just how she wanted it.

_“Slow…and deep.”_

But her Knight merely backed away, his hands untangling her legs from his waist, holding her firmly by the hips as she got her footing. 

And for a moment, trepidation began to build within her, afraid that she had said something wrong. 

It wasn’t until her gown, which had been trapped between their hips, fell freely to the ground, a pool of blue material around her feet.

She watched as Jorah’s eyes made a heart-stopping perusal of her now, naked body, like the General he was, mapping out his next conquest on her body. 

His eyes pausing at the temptation between her legs.

Her breath quickening as his tongue darts out, licking his lips.

Suddenly, his eyes are drawn back to hers and he instantly closes the distance between them.

Kissing her hard and meaningful. 

Then, to her dismay, he abruptly stops. 

“Soon.” 

He promises, before falling to his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I finally got this chapter where I wanted it. 
> 
> It was longer and did include the sex scene, but I decided to cut it because the chapter was already entirely too long. So next chapter will be the bon- chica- wow- wow going on. 
> 
> Also, don't worry. Daenerys still has a lot of explaining to do. That will also take place in the next chapter as well, so don't freak out on me just yet. 😉
> 
> This side of the story is the new shift, the new direction I had been waiting to get too. Feel free to predict where you think it's all going. Some of you may have anticipated this direction, then again, it may come as a complete shock to you. 
> 
> As always, thank you all for the lovely reviews, kudos and bookmarks. You have no idea how humbling it is to have sat on this story for four years, purely out of fear, only to have it receive the kind of reception and love it has. So, thank you all for the new vote of confidence in that department.


	17. When Fire Burns the Brightest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Daenerys confession, she intends to show Jorah just how much she loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG!!! 
> 
> Finally, I'm able to get this chapter finished. 
> 
> Not gonna lie. Work has been kicking the crap out of me. My days off are quickly becoming a distant memory that I was able to enjoy before the season. It truly sucks! 
> 
> So, just a heads up to my readers. I'm afraid the updates may be a bit slower, especially since my time is being consumed by my job. But, I promise, that I will try my best to get this story finished before Christmas. Hopefully by the new year, the sequel will be introduced by then. 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter picks up immediately where the other one left off. I'm sure I don't need to remind you guys about what was about to take place between these two. But just in case you did forget, they were about to do the nasty. So there! 
> 
> Wait, did I need to insert a spoiler alert there? 🤫☝🏻🤷♀️
> 
> Oh...and just a fun little clue. This is the second time that I've dropped the name of the sequel in a chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy my lovely's!!!!

“Soon.” 

He promises, before falling to his knees. 

And she can’t seem to take her eyes off of him, anticipating what her Knight clearly intends to do before taking her to bed.

Gently, he takes her right leg and places it over his shoulder. 

His hand caressing her thigh, as his lips begin kissing her inner thigh, licking and tasting, inching closer and closer to his desired target.

But when he reaches it, he merely pauses and takes a deep breath and exhales mere centimeters from where she wants him most, then teasingly moves to give her other thigh the same attention. 

Daenerys growls out her frustration, her fingers twisting into his hair, trying desperately to push his head back to where he previously was. 

But her bear will not be rushed. 

Carefully, he works his way back up her body, kissing every inch available to him.

When he stands before her again, she immediately reaches out, hands sliding up the middle of his exposed chest and under the open layers of his tunic, shoving the offensive material down his shoulders and off his arms.

She places a light kiss above his heart and smiles when his breath hitches a bit. 

He dips his head into the crook of her neck and plants kisses along her shoulder, working his way up to her ear. 

Whispering softly, “The Old Gods say good things come to those who wait, Khaleesi.”

All the while, he slips a hand down between their bodies, and his Queen presses her forehead against his chest and groans as he pushes a finger inside her and pauses, taken back by how wet she is.

“Seven hells, Daenerys” Jorah breathes. 

But she merely bucks her hips, needing more friction. 

So, he presses the heel of his palm into her clit, finding just the right pressure, as he inserts another finger.

Dany’s eyes close, and her mouth falls open in pleasure, her chest heaving in and out, as she wraps her right leg high around the back of Jorah’s thigh, giving him deeper access. 

One that he intends to take full advantage of.

Slowly, he pushes in deeper and is immediately rewarded with a low, guttural moan that could universally be interpreted as one thing – _Finally._

Jorah deliberately pushes in and out of her at first, setting a steady pace. 

His Queen’s lips seek his, moving languidly over his mouth, her tongue mimicking the thrusts of his fingers. 

And then, he sees it. 

The desperation washing over her face.

A need that could only be likened to an ember being stirred to life and promising to burn. 

Her hips frantically begin grinding down, as he thrusts up, her muscles tensing inside. 

She was close.

And he knew it.

Could tell by her labored breaths and the way her eyes shut tight in concentration.

By the way her head fell forward onto his chest, lost to the building sensations, as her fingernails dug deep into his shoulders, marking him. 

And when Jorah curls his fingers to just the right angle, he’s rewarded with a breathy command.

 _“Gods,”_ she gasps into his chest. _“Don’t. Stop.”_

He pushes harder into her, his body in tune with every encouraging moan she makes.

With every move, as her nails dig deeper into his skin.

Daenerys is becoming louder and louder, her cries echoing throughout the room. 

In fact, his Queen is so loud that he fears someone will hear her and come to investigate its origins.

So, his other hand grasps her silver hair and gently pulls her eyes back to his.

And then silences her with a hard kiss, swallowing her screams as she comes hard, her hips trembling and shaking from the intensity behind her release. 

He slips his fingers from her and quickly picks her up, as she loosely wraps her legs around his waist, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm, vaguely aware that Jorah is walking them towards the bed. 

He places her on the mattress and her hands idly move to the strings of his breeches, pulling the ties loose until he moves away, efficiently breaking the contact. 

Daenerys gives him a pointed look and he merely smirks in return. 

Completely unmoved by the silent warning. 

And her frustration only grows, until his tongue slides over her nipple, pulling and sucking.

The audible, satisfied sigh that leaves her lips, let’s him know all is forgiven, as he begins kissing his way lower, settling between her legs. 

He carefully places each leg over his shoulder, as his tongue dives inside her, making one long swipe up her center.

Her hips shoot straight off the bed, but Jorah’s mouth stays with her, his arms locking tightly around her waist as his tongue pushes deep inside her.

She tastes good. 

Of course, she always tastes good to him. 

So good, that sampling her has become a necessity. 

An act that has to occur every time she blesses him with a visit to her bed. 

Her hands instantly find their way to his hair, pulling and pushing, as her body begins undulating on the bed in the most provocative way.

It’s so unbecoming of a Queen.

So erotic, that he almost loses all self-control and forfeits his current position, for a more demanding one.

One that involves him simply burying his cock to the hilt and coming as deep as he possibly can inside her. 

But this is about her. 

For as long as he breathes, it will always be about her. 

So, he simply closes his eyes and reins in the compulsion. 

Jorah places his palm flat, directly below her belly button, as his thumb begins rubbing her clit in sync with his tongue. 

Then, with skill and patience, he begins alternating.

Pushing his tongue inside her, licking all the way up to her clit and sucking, only to make the same path back down and inside. 

Circling and pressing his thumb hard into her clit.

He opens his eyes only to catch her watching him, her breathing erratic and desperate.

Daenerys’ hands have long abandon his hair to frantically pull at the sheets, seeking something to ground the rush of emotions he’s rebuilding within her. 

Jorah watches as her eyes roll back and slowly close, her features deeply creased in a mixture of pain and pleasure. 

She was close…so very close. 

And he needed her. 

Needed to feel her.

In the most explicit way.

He hastily moves his hand to his black trousers, roughly pushing the material over his hips and down to his knees, freeing his cock completely as he kicks them off to the side.

 _‘Gods, she was loud,’_ he thought.

But he did nothing to let up on his ministrations.

Foregoing all leniency.

Even as her hips began shaking and quivering from the proficient attentions of his tongue.

She was close and he intended to take her there again. 

And several times after that. 

Daenerys began trying to break free, her body scooting further up the mattress. 

Suddenly overwhelmed and needing to separate herself from the sensory overload she was experiencing.

But Jorah’s mouth only chased her down, moving with her as his tongue swiped up and skillfully circled her clit, then sucked down… _hard._

It was all Daenerys needed to take her over the edge.

With Jorah’s name falling loudly from her lips as the culprit behind her gratification.

Her lover finally releases her, as the coiling tension in her body unravels with formidable intensity, as she chants his name, over and over again, like a prayer.

And in her haze, she feels him maneuvering between her legs, pushing her hips up, as his hands grasp behind her knees, spreading her legs open and wide.

And gods, she’s so wet for him. 

So wet, that he easily slides in.

Slowly.

Easing into her inch by inch. 

And it was the precision of his action. 

The sensations flooding her center, as his cock fills her. 

That simultaneously induces another orgasm. 

Crying out in pleasure, as her hands wildly fly to his buttocks, pulling him deeper still.

They groan together, as he pushes himself to the hilt and pauses.

Her body hot and tight.

Squeezing and pulling. 

And good in a way he doesn't quite know how to handle. 

In a way that almost makes him lose himself inside her.

Until he looks down, his lips mere meters from hers. 

And instantly, he’s captivated by the look of utter satisfaction on her face.

Of how her eyes were shut tight, as if in pain.

But the small, contented smile on her lips tells him otherwise. 

“Look at me, Khaleesi.” He commands. 

Slowly, her eyes open.

Dark and hazed. 

The pure, undiluted look of a woman whom was in the process of being made love to properly. 

Their eyes lock for a moment, as his hips thrust as deep as he possibly can into her.

Slow and determined. 

Gentle and patient.

Delivering each stroke with leisure, setting an agonizing pace. 

It was an intimate connection. 

A rediscovering of two kindred spirits.

A liberation from all their past transgressions against one another. 

Jorah watches as she gives him a lazy smile, her eyes almost rolling back from the pleasure.

 _“Mmmm… so good.”_ She moans.

And he feels it.

Feels how her words stir something uninhibited within him, as he leans down, sucks her earlobe into his mouth and softly bites down.

And all he wants to do is give into it. 

Give into the animalistic instincts stirring within the pit of his gut. 

To just take her.

To have her with complete abandon and desperation. 

To just fuck her hard and direct.

But he pushes the urge down. 

Finding it rather easy to discipline.

Especially when she’s looking at him like that. 

Like she always has in his dreams, but never in his waking hours. 

Not with this kind of intensity.

Nor with this much devotion.

And he feels something in his chest stir, wrestling every selfish thought to the ground.

Giving birth to a much different need. 

A different kind of ache. 

A craving he has pushed down ever since this little game of hers started months ago.

One that magnifies his desire to just be with her. 

To take his time in this moment. 

And pour every ounce of emotion she has emboldened, back into her. 

He carefully pushes back inside her. 

Over and over again. 

With measured thrusts and a deep circling of his hips.

His body in tune with hers.

Listening, as she makes a noise that's similar to a whine, high and tight in the back of her throat. 

And he knows she’s enjoying this as much as he is.

Daenerys’ fingers run through his hair, pulling his lips down to hers in an erotic, deep kiss.

Her tongue demanding and taking. 

Exploring and tasting every inch of him.

As if it was all new territory. 

Suddenly, a place that was no longer forbidden to her. 

But free to explore as she liked. 

With patience and due diligence.

Free of all repercussions. 

And she wants him. 

Wants him deeper. 

Under her skin. 

And burrowed deep within her heart. 

She needs him like this. 

Above her. 

Around her. 

Inside her. 

A constant presence. 

From now, until her last breath.

And may the gods curse any man who tries to stop what they have set in motion.

A dangerous, yet intoxicating mixture of ice and fire. 

Her opposite. 

Her contrast. 

Everything she was not. 

Which only enhanced this detrimental need of him. 

Making the attraction, all the more potent.

He was the missing piece. 

The red door. 

The home she had always longed for. 

And the expression of love she had always been denied. 

She was quickly becoming addicted. 

Addicted to the habit of loving him. 

So much so, that her counsel could argue that he was vastly becoming a mortal danger to her heart. 

Her lethal dose of nightshade. 

But she would forever be blinded to the dark clouds billowing in on their horizon. 

After all, there could be an enchanted beauty in naiveté. 

Ignorance is bliss… or so they say. 

“Stay with me.” Jorah breaths. 

Her eyes snap back to his and she sees the concern etched on his face. 

The doubt that stops his hips from moving.

The question in his eyes.

The one he doesn’t dare voice. 

But their infallible connection has always given her the ability to decipher his silence.

Just as she does now.

As her hands move to his shoulders, gently rolling him to his back. 

The action eliciting an objectionable moan from both of their lips as he slips out of her. 

Jorah watches in awe, as her eyes remain fixed to his. 

Sees the small smirk on her lips, as his eyes widen, and his mouth slightly falls open when she moves to straddle him. 

Deliberately neglecting to take him in. 

Choosing to kiss up the length of his neck instead.

Until her lips find his in a brief, yet sensual kiss. 

And he can’t help the groan that escapes his throat when she pulls away.

When her hips agonizingly slide up his length, then pauses when her entrance meets the head of his cock, only to move back down just as slowly.

Denying them both what they truly need.

He growls in frustration. 

At the unfairness of her newfound position and the power it has over him. 

But all is forgotten, when she begins kissing down his neck, to his shoulders. 

His eyes softening, as she places a gentle kiss to his chest, just above his heart.

As if wanting to erase every trace of grief she has ever caused it. 

She carefully moves her hips back up his length and then pauses, her eyes searching his. 

Holding him in the moment. 

Bewitching him by the intensity of her gaze. 

And the influx of secrets they’re revealing. 

Daenerys runs her hands through the sides of his hair, leaning down till she is mere meters from his lips, whispering. 

“I love you.” 

Jorah tries to smile, but the attempt doesn’t quite meet her approval. 

“I see the caution in your eyes, my bear, and I am not so innocent to know that words mean very little in our world today.” 

Her lips lightly graze his. 

Testing.

Enticing. 

Promising more.

Before kissing him with such a fierceness, that it robs him of his breath.

Causing him to gasp for air when she abruptly stops, silently holds his gaze and sinks all the way down his cock in one fluid motion. 

“That’s why I intend to show you.” 

Her hands leave his hair, reaching for his arms, pulling them from her hips and delicately lacing her fingers with his.

And then pushes his hands firmly into the pillows, above his head before reclaiming his lips. 

Her hips begin moving down and forward, taking him in deep, as if her body was reiterating the extent of her devotion to him. 

Smiling to herself, when the stimulating action pulls a deep, guttural groan from his lips. 

One that lets her know that the languid, direct motion of her hips was pushing him toward the edge. 

And selfishly, she wanted nothing more than to be the one that successfully drives him over. 

She needed to see it. 

Needed to see him awash in the pleasure his love has compelled her to reciprocate tenfold. 

She wanted him to see. 

To make him a devout believer. 

In what she was truly feeling for him. 

The infinite depths it reached. 

How far she would go to prove it…over and over again. 

Which is the clear, fervent message her hips were employing. 

With each downward thrust and each agonizing circle of her hips, her breast would roughly slide up and down his naked chest. 

An alluring, hypnotic dance of skin on skin. 

One that seemed to enchant him all the more, judging by the fixed look of wonder in his eyes.

Accompanied by the pained expression that would crease his brow with each downward, loop of her hips, riding him with a skill that vastly surpassed her youth. 

Making love to him with a slow reverence.

A gentle fervor. 

Like a candle’s heedless burn. 

But then again, fire burn’s the brightest at night. 

Showcasing all its glory. 

Just as she was – stripped bare of all her Queenly regal. 

Exposing the woman beneath. 

And her need for a man that sovereignty forbid her to love. 

She kisses him deep and hard. 

Conveying everything her heart might have failed to say earlier. 

Leaving no stone unturned in her quest to validate her feelings for him.

When she backs away, he chases her lips down, causing her grip to loosen and release his hands altogether as Jorah sits up, roughly pulling her back to his lips. 

He thrusts up into her, just as she moves down. 

Both meeting each other’s thrust with a new kind of abandon. 

This one reckless. 

Heady. 

Urgent. 

Her lips leave his and move to his forehead, his cheek, his jawline.

Peppering his face with kisses and repetitiously whispering, _‘I love you,’_ until she was certain he believed her. 

His hands grasp her shoulders, pulling down as he thrusts up hard into her.

Causing Daenerys to securely wrap her arms around his neck.

His Queen still faithfully kissing his face in adoration, urging her Knight toward his release with words of endearment. 

Almost begging him to let go. 

And he can feel her tightening around him. 

Hear the breathy pauses in her voice, as her hips roughly push down on him. 

The frantic, violent action causing them to lose their balanced rhythm for a more frenzied one. 

Driven purely by their need to fall into the abyss. 

Enveloped by an earth-shattering gratification.

Both getting lost in the other. 

_“Please, Jorah…”_ Daenerys pleads. “Please…I _need_ you too.”

She changes the angle of her hips and somehow, he’s able to go deeper, allowing her to rock her hips in a circular motion while he’s buried to the hilt. 

The suggestive action was enough. 

Enough to draw a deep, guttural growl from his throat.

_“Fuck, Khaleesi.”_

And she knows he’s coming.

Hard.

So hard that his body begins to shake from the force of it. 

But she doesn’t relent. 

Faithfully keeps moving her hips.

Enamored by the feeling of his seed filling her.

He’s still lost in the aftershocks, dimly aware of how his Queen is still rocking her hips over him, until she cries out his name so loud that he’s certain the gods heard her.

Taken back by how ferociously her lips capture his, tongue exploring and tasting, as she rides her pleasure out. 

When she comes back down, she realizes that Jorah has laid them back against the pillows, her body still resting above him.

He’s lightly caressing her back, fingernails intimately scratching her delicate skin, as he places gentle kisses to her forehead, brushing her hair back from her eyes.

She shifts slightly to the left and groans in protest when Jorah slips out of her altogether. 

And all she wants is to have him back inside her. 

But she’s certain that her body couldn’t take another round with him so soon. 

He watches as she crosses her arms on his chest, perching her chin on top, eyes searching his with a lazy, satisfied smirk. 

“Well, that was different.” 

Jorah arched a brow. 

“Oh gods, you want me to elaborate, don’t you?” 

And she saw the faint hint of a smile, confirming her suspicions. 

Causing her to playfully slap his shoulder. 

“Must you be such a man?” 

And he laughed at that. 

Something he rarely did. 

Except with her. 

She pretends to move away, but Jorah quickly wraps his arms around her waist, holding her to him, chastely kissing her lips. 

“But you love this man.” 

It was a clear statement, laced with the faint hint of a question. 

Her eyes seek his, soft and sincere. 

“Yes, I do.” She lightly kisses him. “Very much.” 

He watches as her eyes turn serious. 

“I want you to promise me something, Jorah.” 

“Anything, love.” 

“Promise me that this will never change between us. The love we feel for each other…that we will never lose that.” 

His eyes soften considerably. 

“Aye, I promise.”

“Whatever may come?” 

Jorah nods. 

“Whatever may come.”


	18. Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still the first night of Daenerys love declaration to Jorah and she can't sleep, so she decides to make things interesting. 
> 
> Afterwards, during a council meeting, Tyrion get suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm finally getting this story updated. 
> 
> Yes, I am still working on the final chapter of LoA. So, I'm hoping to have it finished by next weekend. 
> 
> And Chapter 19 is currently being written for this story as well. 
> 
> The updates would probably come in a lot faster if the sequel to this story would stop running scenes through my head that demand to be written. But hey, they are really good scenes, so you guys will thank me later. 
> 
> I kind of struggled with this chapter, which explains why it's shorter than usual, so I hope that it still turned out like I intended. 
> 
> Enjoy, my sweeties!!!

The man beside her had fallen asleep hours ago. 

And yet, she still hasn’t conjured up the strength to turn her eyes away from him.

Taking in his sleeping form. 

The way the sheet loosely hangs low on his hips, with his leg casually laying atop, uncovered and bare to the night air.

Or how his arm is carelessly slung over his head, resting comfortably on top of the pillow. 

Her fingers idly brush against his cheek.

And she tries not to wake him. 

But she can’t stop her hand from caressing his skin. 

From exploring the sharp contours of his face, to running her fingers down his broad chest, only to pause at the scar on his hip.

Then, continue further on, mapping out the significance of every mark he has sustained while in her service. 

She effortlessly names the place and reason behind them all.

As her eyes burn the same path as her hand, only to always be drawn back to the lure of his face. 

Entranced by how peaceful he looks.

Of how sleep seems to erase away every line that discloses his true age. 

And the hardships of his life. 

He looks much younger this way. 

Exposed and vulnerable.

To her eyes alone. 

Bidden and content to watch him. 

Hour by hour. 

As if willing the night to last longer. 

To never end. 

And for the world, to remain where she had previously left it. 

Barricaded on the other side of his door. 

Far away from them. 

Far from this little sanctuary they had managed to carve out for themselves. 

Where only the two of them exist and nothing more. 

In this refuge, fashioned by their hands, there are no wars to be fought. 

No Kingdoms to be reclaimed. 

Or thrones to be usurped. 

None of that resides here. 

It was a false front, she knew. 

A subterfuge. 

One her council would surely warn her against. 

But then again, she was a dragon. 

It was in her nature to throw caution to the wind. 

And it has served her well, thus far. 

Bringing her to this defining moment. 

An epiphany. 

One where she surrenders to the undercurrent of a love that has been building and rising since the day she met him. 

Now she was caught in the ebb tide and refused to come to shore.

And it was this thought, that brings her back to the present. 

Back to the man her gaze has never left. 

Truth be told, Ser Jorah was a very handsome man. 

A realism that she had virtually been blinded to since their first meeting. 

Until her heart began to discern the true nature of his beauty. 

Amazed at how one’s perception can evolve, once love enters the equation. 

It had been hours since their last tryst. 

And suddenly, she could feel the need to have him again burning in her chest, down her stomach and twisting in between her legs.

A need that was demanding to be quenched. 

No longer satisfied with fleeting touches and bold perusals.

Daenerys hooks her leg over his, draping her naked body more onto his chest and lowering her lips to the crook of Jorah’s neck, lightly kissing. 

Smiling against his skin, when he groans in his sleep.

And she knows.

She can tell by the way his eyes flutter and his drawn features dismissively settle back into place. 

Her bear is chalking this one up to a dream. 

So, she willingly takes advantage of the oversight.

With a keen eye, she watches as her hand slides down his chest, to his stomach, following the blonde trail of hairs that disappear beneath the sheet, until she securely takes him in her hand.

Gently massaging, as she skillfully runs her nails up and down the length of him, effectively pulling her name from his lips. 

And she can’t stop the smug grin that begins to form.

Nor the rush of empowerment that inspires her to continue.

To please her bear in ways that she had previously neglected before.

When the true intentions of her heart remained hidden and in the shadows.

Forbidden by duty to come forth.

And it doesn’t take long.

Before he’s rock hard.

Moaning, as she begins stroking him with firm, direct twists of her hand.

And she really can’t keep her eyes off of him.

Mesmerized by the image of his pleasure burned into his features.

With his eyes shut tight in concentration.

And lips slightly parted from his lungs inability to draw a proper breath.

Her hand pauses momentarily, and she can’t help but to smile sympathetically, when his eyes shoot open in panic.

Only to have the feeling disappear, when she throws the sheet aside, her feet kicking the offensive material off the bed altogether, settling between his legs. 

Jorah’s head falls back to the pillow, with his lids heavy and brain foggy. 

Completely seduced by the deft movements of her hand slowly continuing its ministrations.

It wasn’t until he felt the breath from her lips, lightly grazing the coolness of his skin, that it dawned on him just exactly what she intended to do.

And immediately moved into action, proficiently stopping her. 

“Your Grace, a Queen does not – ”

“Does not what, Ser Jorah?”

He struggled to clarify. “They do not...” 

Her bear trailed off, partly blushing and partly from her hand still gripped tight around his cock, idly stroking him.

She smirked at his chivalry. 

“Are you presuming to tell me that no Queen in history has ever wanted to please the man she loves?”

A breath hitched in his throat, as her tongue briefly circled the head of his cock, her eyes never leaving his. 

“I…cannot…say.” He finally gritted out. 

“You cannot say?” She teased. “Then perhaps you should remain quiet and let your Queen continue to love you.”

Jorah merely nodded, dropping his head roughly back into the pillow with a loud groan, as his Queen took every inch of him into her mouth.

**-x-x-x-**

A proper lady would be blushing right now.

Especially when she was standing so close to the man whom she had reduced to begging her to fuck him mere hours ago. 

And she did. 

Hard and with a fevered desperation that both seem to equally chase together. 

Until they were falling back into the mattress, bodies sated and gasping for air. 

Lips and hands unable to reach their fill.

And she swears by the gods, that if she knew of some malediction to utter, some blood magic that could freeze time, she would have employed every ounce of energy to make it stick.

But all good things must end. 

Yet, she still couldn’t get enough of him. 

No matter how subtle her intentions were. 

As they stood in the council room, listening to Varys deliver the latest news on Westeros. 

A letter revealing Roose Bolton, the usurper of the Starks, has furthered his hold on the North by marrying his son, Ramsey Bolton to Sansa Stark. 

She knew the value of this information. 

And she tried to listen to all of their arguments.

To take them into account.

But she only found herself moving closer to her Lord Commander, casting concerned glances in his direction as the disturbing news of his homeland unfolded with tales of Ramsey's madness.

He’s terrified for them, she knows. 

She can feel it coming off of him in waves. 

Which is why she places a comforting hand to his forearm, when he loses his temper with Daario and Tyrion’s assessment that the time for Daenerys to strike is now. 

It’s enough. 

To pull him back in. 

Their eyes meet briefly. 

And exchange a silent message that only the two of them can decipher. 

But the language is not lost on Tyrion. 

He is all too familiar with this dance. 

Especially between these two. 

Slowly, the dwarf tilts his head, intrigued by the scene. 

And carefully regards Daenerys.

Who in turn, meets him with a formidable and unforgiving gaze. 

She watches, as Tyrion’s eyes suspiciously dart between the pair, mentally observing their proximity.

How, if she were to make the simplest of moves, the whole left side of her body would intimately brush along her Lord Commander’s. 

And the dwarf’s sagacious eye seems to make note of it.

Of its implications. 

Although, he never voices his concerns aloud, Daenerys could visibly see it written in every line that dramatically creased his forehead. 

No, he didn't require some detailed account of last night activities.

_He knew._

He knew that her relationship with Jorah had taken a substantial turn. 

Unfurling into an infinite ardency that threatened the future of the Iron Throne.

And, _his future_. 

As well as the future of thousands like him. 

Thousands who depended on her ability to bring about the world she sworn to create. 

With the magic of fire and dragons.

And by the way he saw it, only she could breathe life into that vision.

But, _only her_ …with a suitable King by her side.

And the dwarf didn’t even try to hide his disdain in figuring it out.

Or the repugnant look that blatantly told her of his opinion on the matter.

Suddenly, making her very conscious of her association with Jorah, feeling like a guilty child whom had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

_Or in this case, her Lord Commander’s breeches._

Feeling as though she needed to place some space between Jorah and herself. 

But, she has had enough of distance. 

Endured months, even years of it. 

She will not bend to another second of its intrusive nature. 

Or to her counsel’s meddlesome advice into the affairs of her heart. 

If this was the one battle they wanted to pick, she damn well intended to win the war.


End file.
